


Ignition

by evanesce96 (goodmorningvietnam666)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crime, Denial of Feelings, Erwin's Eyebrows, Fighting, First Kiss, First Time, He gets a cravat out of all of this, Levi Is Bad At Feelings, Levi and Erwin need to use their words, Levi spends a lot of his time being confused and hating people, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Parties, Romance, Smut, Somewhat?? Graphic Depictions of Gore, Spoilers for A Choice With No Regrets, Stabbing, The Underground is full of assholes, and done with everyone and their bullshit, murders, sort of canon compliant, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-10 21:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10448133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorningvietnam666/pseuds/evanesce96
Summary: It's been three years since he joined the Scouts, and Levi is no surer of Section Commander Erwin Smith's intentions than he was then. They are stuck here, in Wall Sina, until the snow lets up, or until they get some money in their pockets.Commander Shadis's solution is simple: solve the murders of the Military Police, and get the nobles on their side.It'd be simpler if Levi could focus on only that, rather than exactly why Smith makes his heart stutter, and why he thinks that a man with no heart is so attractive.





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely self-indulgent, I won't lie about that. I've been testing genres, decided to write a murder mystery, and then wrote this. I'm only putting out the first chapter for now, but it is complete, so don't worry about a long wait. I just want to hang back until I get feedback from a friend who's reading it, so I know it doesn't need to be edited again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for crime and mystery, and after rewatching Attack on Titan, and A Choice With No Regrets, I decided to indulge myself in writing a mystery within that universe. It adheres to most of the canon, and ignores a few things, such as Levi owning a cravat before the events of this story. 
> 
> Please feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments, as I'll admit posting this has given me nerves due its.... uniqueness? I don't know, anyway, reviews etc. are always welcome!
> 
> This work has been edited by myself and a few betas, but if you see any glaring issues, give me a heads up!

### Year 843 – Two years before the fall of Wall Maria.

When he’d been very small, five, Levi had collected things. Things that shone in the light: buttons, pins, marbles, feathers. Things that he thought were pretty. He’d bring them to his mother, when she was home. Even though they were dirty, old or worn, she’d smile, and tell him how wonderful it was he’d found them. 

His mother was a good woman, she was caring, and kind, good at hiding her pain and better at protecting her son. The only good thing left in this world, she’d once said. He remembers the day he lost her, the night before is fresh, like any other. They’d gone to bed together, she hadn’t had work for a while now, sick as she was, and in the morning, he woke up. His mother didn’t. 

He’d stopped collecting things after that, hadn’t had the time. Kenny Ackerman had found him, had pulled him into a world of danger, and death, had taught him how to defend himself. Had disappeared immediately after, gone as fast as Levi imagined his father had been. Without a trace, without a care for what he was leaving behind. 

The real world comes back with startling clarity as a ball of snow hurtles past his face. It skims by him on its path to a small boy’s shoulder. He’d walked between a snowball fight. Two little forts are on either side of what would be a courtyard in the spring or summer. Children laugh and jeer at one another, the girl who’d thrown the ball calls out an apology. Levi clears the area to avoid something hitting him.

They’d arrived in the Royal Capital only yesterday: the snow was too thick, too deep, beyond the wall. It had been a miracle that they’d arrived here alive. The journey from their supply base to Maria had been the most harrowing of his short career. They’d lost twenty men. Shadis hadn’t batted an eye, and now they were stuck here until spring arrived, or the snowing let up.

Winter was tough for the kids underground. There were no contracts worth taking, no wood for fire, and no merchants to steal from. You turned on even your closest allies in winter, no man was safe from its bitter betrayal. He remembers how hard he’d once fought for clothes that didn’t fit, spoiled food or fruit frozen to the core. The underground still seems fresh. Fresher than the death of his mother, and it’s as though he can’t escape its clutches. Even here, above it, among the people he despises the most. 

“Lieutenant.”

It’s a new name he should get used to, a necessary promotion considering the people’s opinion of him. Whispers of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier had turned to shouts, and Shadis had had his arm twisted. Had promoted Levi against his will. He's now entrusted with a squad, and he'd chosen each of them based on skill, and strength of character. He's reminded daily that he needs one more member before he can call his little group complete. He's daunted at the thought of those lives in his hands.

He shakes it off in favour of snapping a salute to Section Commander Smith, the man he’d once tried to kill. “Sir.” He moves off the road, toward the side street so he can fall in step with long, purposeful strides.

“The Commander has asked to see you,” Erwin continues, clasps his hands behind his back as he walks. Where he is knee deep in snow, it is up to Levi’s thighs, “I had a feeling I’d find you wandering out here somewhere.”

“Did he ask, or did you twist his arm?” Levi’s no idiot, no matter what the Military Police say. Usually, anything granted to him by the Commander gets pushed to him by his Section Commander. “One day, he’ll stop giving you handouts. The beaten dog will bite, you know.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Lieutenant.” There’s a curve at the corner of Erwin’s mouth, an ever-present smirk. “The Commander has a great deal of faith in me, I’d never abuse that power for my own gain.”

“I don’t understand you higher ups." He admits, runs a hand through his hair. A cold gust of wind carves into them, and he tightens the scarf around his neck, shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “You know what he wants, then?”

“That’s for him to tell you,” Erwin opens the door to Shadis’ office, holds it for him with a stoic expression, “Try to behave.”

Levi opens his mouth to reply, but finds the door in his face and grinds the cruel words down. He turns, and takes stock of the office. It’s full of finery, but only to the trained eye. The expensive metal work, plush chairs, and the colour of the paint boasts of a higher pay than anyone in the Scouts could dream of. 

But the fire is lit, and he can feel his limbs coming back to him, so he ignores his posh surroundings, and salutes his Commander. “You called?”

“I did,” the one thing he appreciates about Shadis is that he is straight to business, not about double entendres or witty quips. He gets to the grit of the matter, and doesn’t give a damn about pleasantries. “Military Officers are being murdered in the underground.”

“Of course they are,” Levi sneers, “Those damned dogs don’t know their foot from their nose. Useless pricks.”

He thinks he sees a glint of amusement in Shadis’ gaze, but he can’t be sure. “Yeah, they’re shit at their job, alright… but they’ve asked for help, and stuck here behind the walls, we can’t say no.” he stands from his desk, paces the room once and leans against it once he returns, folds his arms. “Section Commander Smith mentioned that helping might get some money back into our pockets... even you can gather that we need that.”

Funding: the lifeblood of the Scout Regiment, the only way they can get outside the walls and expand their reach. If nobles fund them, then they can soar, but if not, then they’ll never get off the ground. “Right” he nods, mimics Shadis in his pacing. “You and Smith’ll be at those fancy parties then, so… you want me to find this guy?”

“Think you can? The slums down there were once your stalking grounds.” There’s nothing in the Commander’s gaze that says this is an insult, and Levi doesn’t take it as one. He does know the underground, better than any other Scout. 

“Tsk, lazy nobles and military pigs are the last people I want to help… but if it gets us out of Sina, I guess it’s the only choice. I’ll find your killer, Shadis.”

“Good. Go on, I have to talk to your CO. Update him whenever you think you should.” Levi nods in reply, turns on his heel, and almost runs head first into Erwin as the blonde opens the door. 

He growls, and steps to the side, hears Shadis laugh before the door shuts behind him. It’s embarrassing that Smith riles him up with practised ease. Levi supposes part of that is the odd attraction he feels for the blonde. But no matter what he tries, he can never faze his Section Commander, unable to push his buttons. He’s convinced there are no buttons, that Erwin severed them to become stronger. 

He slinks into the courtyard, back out into the cold, and stalks across the length of it, heads for his quarters. Zacharius waves him over, and there’s a look in his eyes that says Levi can’t say no, not this time. He growls, and approaches the man who knows the exact time that their Commander takes a shit, from the smell of his cologne. It’s unsettling, that Miche can discern so much from even the most private men and women, from a scent. 

Sparks crash into his vision, he staggers back in retreat as his breath leaves him in one sharp gasp. It’s once the sparks die down that he watches Zacharius return his foot to the ground. When he’d first joined up, Smith had demanded he trained for proper combat. Had said that if Levi wanted to kill him, he’d have to get past his defences. So, he had fallen under Zacharius, and to have his ass handed to him over and again. 

Despite his size, Miche was fast, dangerous: he knew his own strength, knew his reach and the reach of others. He saw what was coming, and often found the openings for attack, and the points for his own defence. Levi was happy to take hits: so long as his strikes connected, a few bruises meant nothing. He was fast, and strong: if he and Zacharius were the same age, taught the same man, they’d be equals. 

After his first time outside the walls, Miche had forced him to spar, had tired him until he couldn't stand. “You’re fast, and strong,” he’d said “But what’s it good for if you can’t fight? Learn to control yourself, and all that potential will actually count for something.”

It is now a developing habit that when they needed to talk something out, they beat the shit out of each other. Levi improved, but Miche learnt more and more about his style, and they had yet to reach a stalemate. 

Levi shucks off his coat, rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and loosens another button, opens his collar. “He wants me to hunt down a murderer.” Levi strikes first, he always does, and Miche blocks the punch with his forearm. Twists his arm to throw Levi off and regains the distance Levi had closed. 

“Keeping you here will make more problems, short stuff.” Levi rolls his eyes at the nickname, Miche smirks. “You’re a trouble maker” the punch that clips his ear is short and sharp, sets off a ringing noise. It reminds Levi to focus. 

“If this guy is underground, he could be anywhere, anyone… there’s no love for the MP’s down there.” a leaping kick connects to Miche’s shoulder, earns him a hum of approval, “Aside from the whores, but that’s a different story”. 

Zacharius chuckles, weaves under another of Levi’s attacks and knees him in the chest, the area where his foot had struck earlier. He wheezes, but rolls away from further damage. “Ask to see a body or two: it’s winter, the decomposition rate is slower, or something… ask Hanji”

“Tch, and risk her jabbing me with needles? No thanks.” He feels his lips quirk into a smile when Miche laughs, grins when that laugh turns to a sharp cough. The feel of his foot connecting with Zacharius’s left flank is beyond satisfying. “Hey, Zacharius… you were here when Smith was a recruit, right?” he ducks beneath a punch, throws his fist into open air. Turns to face his opponent again, throws up his arms to guard against a kick. “What was he like?

“I was,” Miche replies, grips at his arm and pulls his in, almost knees him in the ribs again. Levi manages to push off using his stomach as a spring pad, rolls to recover and throws up another guard to block a punch. “Mostly? Too clever for his own good. Shadis both praised and despised him. I’m surprised Erwin even earned the title of Section Commander.” Levi darts beneath Miche’s guard, drives his heel into his opponent’s thigh, and darts away. “Ouch. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering if he was always so…”

“Stoic? Nah, Erwin was… different, when he started here. It’s… something you’ll have to figure out yourself.” He feels the pressure of something at his ankles, responds too late as he’s swept off his feet. Levi attempts to escape, gets both hands pinned to his chest for his efforts. “You were distracted, shorty. You would have had me otherwise”

“You always say that, shit-for-brains.” He snaps, accepts Miche’s hand, who then pulls him to his feet. “Why can’t you tell me? Will you turn to stone or some shit?” he rolls down his sleeves, retrieves his coat, and buttons his shirt, leaves the two top buttons open as always. 

“Pretty sure open collars are going out of style.” Zacharius leads the way to the soldier’s quarters, smiles and nods to greet the scouts they pass on their way to the stairs. 

“Your facial hair is going out of style” he snaps, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t answer my question, either.”

“It’s an answer only those close to him know, Levi… I wouldn’t betray his trust like that.” He spots his room, glances up at Miche and notes his gaze is somewhere else entirely. 

“Loyal dog… you’d do anything for him?” He doesn’t know if he wants the answer, but stops in front of his door just in case. 

“I’d die for him.” There’s no joke in Zacharius’s gaze, the humour that’s usually there long gone, but it returns. “Even turn to stone if he asked… Night, Levi”

“Yeah… night” he replies to Miche’s back. He notices the way his companion rubs at his flank, squeezes his thigh, and thinks this time Zacharius was telling the truth. He was improving. 

He doesn’t sleep well, but he never has.  



	2. Legwork

The morning seems colder than the last, and he’s thankful for the long coat given to him while they’re here in Sina. He doesn’t miss the heavy weight of ODM gear on his hips, wishes he could do without the tight leather straps that hug his legs, waist, and chest. They are beginning to engrave marks into him, darker than his fair skin, more like bruises than indentations. He supposes it’s part of being a scout, and he wonders what Erwin’s look like. 

He cuts the train of thought off almost as soon as it arrives, rolls his eyes at his own stupidity. He can’t afford to fall for someone like Erwin Smith, a man who is completely unreadable, vague and strategic. Someone who is using him for his strength, doesn’t care to remember anything about him, other than the fact that he can kill Titans. 

This jacket has pockets, and he is happy to shove his hands into them, to hide from the crowd that wanders the main marketplace. He’s glad for the black, cotton lined, leather gloves this uniform had come with. His breath is white smoke, almost as though he’s been at a pack of expensive cigars, and his mouth feels dry and tacky. 

With some of his coin, he buys a soft, green, scarf, and wraps it around his neck to keep the chill at bay. It’s of far better quality than the old, ratty thing he’d been wearing. It offers warmth, prevents the chill from turning the tips of his ears and nose pink.

Levi steps into the Military Police base without pause, makes his way through and doesn’t bother to knock on their Commander’s door. “Shadis sent me: I’m to find your murderer.” He announces, meets Dok’s gaze with a challenge in his eyes, must repress a growl, or a sneer. 

“He sent you?” The surprise is there, though it’s hidden beneath disdain “Ah, well, at least if you die we’ll finally be rid of you”

“Ha, right. Do you have the bodies?” Levi shifts his feet, falls into step with the other man as he leads the way through the base. He offers a glare to anyone who decides to look at him. 

Dok leads him away from the military base, and to a close by undertaker, and they step in. It’s colder within this building than it is outside, the chill invades his very bones, and he pulls the scarf tighter around his neck. “A member of the Scout Regiment is here to see the victims of the recent string of murders.” Dok addresses the room, or at least that’s what it seems to Levi: the place is as dead as its occupants. 

“It’s not Hanji Zoe, is it?” a feminine voice echoes through the room, it sets Levi’s teeth on edge. He can’t find the source, not until a woman around his age, with short hair the colour of coffee, steps out of an adjacent room. “Oh, darn, I’ve missed her.” She steps into the room, and approaches him, holds out her hand. “Evelyn Kirchwey, it’s nice to meet you” as they shake hands, she turns to Dok, “I can take him from here, Nile”

Levi doesn’t know what the Commander mutters under his breath, but he’s sure it’s not a good thing, and that it’s about him. “You’re an undertaker? Typical that you’re friends with Four-Eyes”

Evelyn laughs, and leads the way through to a room with several gurneys, each holding a body with a sheet draped over it. “The most recent murder was this one here, some of the others are here, most have been claimed by their families.”

“Through influence?” as he shucks off his jacket and takes of his gloves and scarf, she nods, “Tsk, of course. I’ll see the freshest first.” As he approaches, Evelyn offers him a set of gloves that are thin, yet tough. 

“Not everyone likes their hands dirty, figured you’d be the type” she explains as he pulls them on. She lifts the sheet and draws it back, reveals a pale member of the Military Police. 

“Stabbing?” Levi asks as his hands move to the thin, oddly shaped wounds on the man’s chest, and along his right arm. He’s disappointed: he’d hoped to find bullet wounds, along with an excuse to track down Kenny Ackerman and repay the man’s kindness with a sword in his throat. 

“Well, yes, but not with a knife: the wounds are too deep” Evelyn answers, “I’m assuming those on his arm are from when he tried to defend himself”

“ _If_ ” Levi stresses, takes the arm in both hands, pokes into the wound and tries not to grimace at the sound it makes, “But it does seem like the case: these are shallow, have an angle that suggests he blocked the blade…” his traces each wound on the chest, notes how none are close to the heart but the killing blow. “Either this guy’s an idiot, or he was toying with his prey.”

“That makes sense, if Commander Dok’s theory that the killer is from the underground has any foundation.” Evelyn replies, she’s standing across from Levi, and in her eyes, is that same glow that Hanji gets when she looks at Titans: it’s fascination, and passion. Her green eyes are alight with it, her age seems to vanish with it: he wonders if she’s married, or if her obsession drives people away much like Hanji’s does. Wonders then if maybe that’s why they’re friends. 

“There’s no money in killing soldiers… if this guy is from the underground, then he’s got something against them. Otherwise, this is political.” He had killed for a living, Kenny Ackerman’s first lesson had been how to slit someone’s throat, he knows where money flows thickest, and the answer is nobles and politicians. Killing soldiers isn’t something people from the underground are asked to do, not unless the purpose is political. Even so, the fact that this murderer was toying with his victims makes Levi believe this was more than a contract. 

“Are the others the same?” he asks, and Evelyn shakes her head. 

“All stabbings, yes, but some are choked, burned, boiled… the only thing they have in common is the blade, and the cause of death” she explains as he removes the gloves and she replaces the sheet. “All Military Police, as well, but I’m sure that went without saying.”

Levi nods, takes a deep breath in and sighs it out “Alright… Will these be moving at any time soon?”

Evelyn rolls her eyes “Have you met the MP’s?” he snorts, and she offers a smile “I’m not sure, but I’ll take moulds of the stab wounds, and record the differences in each body, for you. Aside from that there’s not much I can do on this end… I’ll keep looking for something that might help you, and if I find something, I’ll send someone to your base.”

Levi offers a small smile, and presents her his hand as he wraps his scarf back around his neck. “Thank you, Miss Kirchwey” he says, she shakes his hand once it’s gone through his coat’s sleeve with a smile. 

“You’re welcome…”

“Lieutenant- uh, Levi… just Levi”

“Levi, then” she says with a smile, “And call me Evelyn”

He nods, and releases her hand, then shows himself out. Incredibly, it feels warmer outside despite the snowfall, the chilled wind, and the lack of sun. He knows, as midday rolls around, that he’s about to be much colder. 

He stops by their base and grabs a quick bite to each, as well as a cup of tea, something to warm his chilled blood. 

“Good Afternoon, Lieutenant.” Petra Ral, highest amount of subjugations within her current squad despite her slight frame. She, and several others, joined their ranks before their most recent expedition. He feels almost guilty that their time outside the wall so far has been this short. “How are you?”

“Fine. Being kept busy, as usual” he gestures she sit, and with a smile, she obliges. “Petra, right?” when she nods, he mimics the movement. “How do you feel? After the expedition, and about your time here?”

“Well, sir, I’m determined to commit everything I have to the Scout Regiment. Anything that aids the cause, and that I can achieve, I’m willing to do.” She replies, and there’s an earnest look to her that tells him she’s not spouting bullshit. Not that he cares: this is Shadis’ circus, and if he hired trained monkeys and dressed them all in pink, Levi wouldn’t protest. “I’m hoping that I can prove myself to you as well.”

Levi nods “I suppose you've satisfied your superiors with that.” He’s not going to pretend that he’s proud, or impressed. “I know mine wish I thought along those lines.” He flicks his gaze up to her own, “I don’t need to be impressed, Petra. I chose my squad by hand, and I know what you’re capable of.”

“Then… why are you here, sir?” She tilts her head, and the food she’d brought with her is completely forgotten, only to listen to him. It puts him on edge: she reminds him of how much he must live up to now. 

Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. He’s become some sort of god, a messiah, to the people of Paradis.

Levi takes a sip from the cup in his hand, the tea is bitter, it’s a sharp, unforgiving taste, and it’s just the way he likes it. “To see the outside world without Titans to block the view” it’s true, as ridiculous as he thinks it sounds. “I suppose that means I’m fighting for a right to freedom. Sorry for being a cliché.”

“I think it’s a noble cause, sir. It makes you a good fit for the Scouts.” Petra replies, and at the call of her name, she glances back to a group of scouts waving her over. 

“Go on” he says, standing and draining the last of his tea, “I have to be going anyway. Any more talk from me and I’ll ruin your appetite.” He pauses in tugging on his jacket, 

“That is to say, I can only talk about death from here on out. I’ve nothing left to say. Have a good day, Petra.”

“You too, sir… and be safe.”

He turns and leaves the mess hall, nooses the scarf around his neck and moves to the gear check-in/out area, takes his and straps it to his person, then leaves the base once more. The cold is becoming more intense, the wind is picking up, and thanks to the winter season, dark is fast approaching. It doesn’t stop Levi, and soon enough he’s descending steps he’d never thought he’d come near again. 

The underground, a network of alleys, streets, and halfway houses. More abundant in taverns and whorehouses than medical facilities and orphanages. A place where assassins gain business, and merchants die ‘suspiciously’, where everyone is alone in their struggle, and no one from above ground is to be trusted. 

Especially the military. 

His coat, with its colouring, and the coat of arms it bears, keeps the people at bay. Combined with a look that promises murder, Levi does a good job of avoiding bother as he strides through the once-familiar streets. 

“Oi, you” he calls it to a kid maybe twelve years old “Know where the military dogs were murdered?” As he speaks, he pulls free a gold coin: worth two weeks of survival down here, where up there, it couldn't afford bread. 

The kid nods, “Want me to take you?” Levi nods in return, and the boy jerks his head behind him. “Come on, then.” He’s not surprised the kid cooperates: people grow up fast down here. Levi himself had known what a prostitute was, what they did, since the age of eight. He’d killed a man by ten, had learnt how to scare them by twelve. His teens were rough: he’d learnt charm, and brutality, from Kenny, but he’d known how the world above him worked since the day he’d been born. It was ingrained, he was sure of it, into his very body, his soul and mind: every part of him understood survival, and by extension, the nature of humans. 

Their nature is disgusting. There are times he wishes he isn’t one of them. 

They reach a small alleyway, at the end is a wall, day-old blood clings to it, winks at him in the low light of lanterns. He hands the boy the gold he’d offered, “Thanks kid: this one will do fine. The others are probably cleared out anyway.”

He knows how this world works, like he knows that before he leaves, someone will try to kill him. Another lesson from Kenny Ackerman: the first, go for the throat, the second, don’t trust anyone, and the third, assume everyone is out to get you. There were others, but they didn’t apply down here.   
If he had to give that murderous asshole credit for anything, it was his knowledge of the world above ground.

Levi takes a quick look around the dead end, notes that there are still signs of a scuffle. A mark on the wall from a blade, a broken box, a piece of torn fabric which he retrieves, and a few strange marks on the edges of the rooves, and the same wall that the blood bears. He frowns in response to it, and kneels to examine it.

It's a deep indent, almost like a star, the marking on the wall tells him that whatever it was, it was metal. Maybe the victim’s gear, given that the Military Police wear it within the city. Looking to his gear, Levi pulls free the grappling hook and attempts to fit it into the dent, curses when it doesn’t quite fit, and the pattern is different. 

He stands, and dusts off the dirt on his knee. It didn’t do well to linger here once night fell: it encouraged the people down here to take advantage of a lonely soldier. He walks with purpose, ignores their leers and jeers. It’s as he reaches the stairs that the situation dissolves into chaos. A knife enters his vision, and he grips the arm that wields it, squeezes on the bone hard and lets his attacker’s screams echo off the walls. He steps down on their calf, forces them to their knees and drives his knee into their jaw, hard enough he hears a crack, and his attacker’s eye roll to their back of their head as they slump to the floor. 

Levi scoffs, kicks at his unconscious body, and starts ascending the stairs. One of the toll collectors pulls at his scarf, it takes his balance, and his feet, from him, and he hits the dirt. They set upon him, and its remnant of the days when he’d been much smaller. Rough hands grip at his wrists and ankles, he struggles, and lashes out whenever he feels their grip relax. He bites down on a hand that reaches for his throat, feels the skin break beneath his teeth and tastes the copper of blood. There’s a scream, but almost immediately another hand wraps around his throat. 

Their grip tightens, and he struggles harder, wiggles both legs. Air refuses to enter his lungs, he’s suffocating: there’s a moment where his body considers panicking, but a greater part wills him to survive. He wrenches his right leg free and kicks out, once he connects with something solid, he refuses to stop attacking. A hand tries to pull his foot back to the ground, and it finds itself wedged beneath the ground and Levi’s heel. 

The scream that man elicits when he breaks their hand is encouraging, gives him back some hope. But he’s still choking, still losing air and strength along with it. He contorts his body, lashes out at the man choking him and breathes in when they release their grip, but it’s only for a moment. 

He frees his left leg after some effort, but his kicks have no strength, his vision is darkening around the edges, there’s nothing left in his lungs, and he knows the situation is grim. He breaks the grip of the person holding his left arm by contorting his body, and kicking their arm, it breaks beneath the strike, then grips the wrist of the choker and pulls down. He raises his hips and turns his shoulders to them as well as he can, feels air pass through his starving lungs and gasps for it. He throws his knee into their calf, hard, and feels their grip around his neck loosen. 

Levi uses this to escape, scrambles to his feet and lashes out with a hard kick to their chest, blocks another attempt to put him on the ground and draws his weapons. The tension between himself and his assailants might as well be a physical thing, their eyes are on his blades. Better that than on his heaving shoulders and shaking legs. 

“If you want to live, run” he grates it out, and his voice sounds as though he’s been gargling nails. 

There’s a moment of silence, where they help those still conscious to their feet, and Levi thinks they’re going to attack again, but they turn, and dash away. He picks up his scarf from where it had fallen, and climbs the stairs to the surface. It’s only once he’s there that he sheathes his blades, leans against a wall, and sighs in relief. 

He can still feel those hands around his neck, his lungs remember the feeling of no air, his chest feels like it’s still being crushed, and he’ll likely remember it in the morning, too. He returns to base, avoids who he can where he can, and drops onto his bed, shuts his eyes to the world and takes in a lungful of air. 

He’d almost died in the very place he’d fought to escape. It is a daunting feeling, and he wants it gone. He stands, strips, and dares a glance in the mirror. The marks from his gear are still present, darker than flesh, slowly becoming permanent. He frowns: he doesn’t like them, the way they hug his hips, flanks and chest, the way they circle perfectly around his thighs and calves. It’s like a brand, like he’s a piece of Section Commander Smith’s property, or at least owned by the Scout Regiment.

The newer marks are a bright, angry red: his throat and wrists are going to bruise in neat rings, and they’re going to be dark, obvious to anyone he passes what has or may have happened. In a moment of fear, he wonders if killing him had been their only goal, but they would have tried to have their way with him the minute they'd pinned him, unless they had a thing for dead people. 

Disgusting. 

There’s a knock at his door, and Levi’s head jerks in the direction of the noise, “Levi, are you in here?”

It’s his Section Commander, he glances down at his naked body, and moves to find something to wear, “Hold on.” His throat still hurts, enough that talking seems an impossible task. He dresses himself, and is buttoning his shirt when he hears the door crack open: he must not have been loud enough. 

“Oh, sorry, you are in here,” Erwin steps into the room, and his eyes flick to his gear, “You hadn’t returned your gear, and the attendants- what happened?”

His tone moves from pleasant to hard as ice within syllables, Levi reels from it, realises the red mark peaks over his collar. “Don’t worry about it.” He turns to Erwin, and folds his arms as the blonde attempts to close the distance between them, “I’m fine. Got into a fight, that’s all”

Erwin’s eyes don’t focus on one part of him for a long moment, and they stop at his neck, Levi reaches up and covers the mark. It’s then that the blonde notices the rings around his wrists. Levi refrains from cursing. “You… Check in your gear, and then meet me the Comannder’s office in a clean uniform.”

Levi tilts his head, watches the blonde leave and sighs. He strips again, runs a bath and dresses in a clean set of pants and a freshly pressed shirt, buttons it up to the collar and throws his jacket over it, ties it closed and hopes the mark is hard to see. He returns his gear, apologises to the attendees for its lateness, and then knocks on Shadis’ door, enters on command. 

“A nobleman wants us to come to an event he’s hosting. He wants you there, for whatever reason.” His Commander looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, looks strange neat and well presented. Shadis’ gaze flicks to his throat, and Levi almost growls, holds it back behind gritted teeth, “Gods, Erwin, you could be gentler with him… didn’t think you liked it rough.”

Erwin doesn’t greet him, or respond to Keith, is leaning against the Commander’s desk, his hair neat and pushed back, a long coat over his uniform. He looks handsome, as though he could charm you with a smile, and completely unlike himself. Or maybe that’s just Levi’s heart overruling his head, because really, he doesn’t look any different. 

“Great. The day someone tries to choke me is the day you want me to play nice with nobles.” Levi folds his arms, walks the length of the room to hide the red that tinges his ears and cheeks, and scowls at Erwin. “I’m betting even you couldn’t explain away this,” he gestures at his neck, and huffs when something soft and white collides with his face. He pulls the fabric from his face, and spends a moment examining it. “You’re giving me a towel?”

“It’s a cravat” Erwin replies, pushes off the desk and unfolds his arms. 

“… You’re giving me a _fancy_ towel.” Levi tilts his head in confusion, and he spots a hint of amusement in the blonde’s gaze, Erwin chuckles, Shadis snorts.

“I’m giving you a _cravat_ , so you can cover up the mark on your neck.” he continues, plucks the fabric from Levi’s hands and pops his collar, ties the thing around his neck and smooths it back down. He then smooths back his hair, and Levi is struck by the fact that he likes the feeling of Erwin’s fingers threading through his dark locks, then the blonde steps back. “Funnily enough, it suits you.”

Levi takes hold of part of the cravat, holds it up to examine it, “It’s yours?” Another piece of fabric that proves Erwin owns him, he’ll bet. 

“No, well, not exactly” Erwin shrugs, adjusts the way Levi’s coat sits on his shoulders, “A gift I never used, nor ever will… it’s yours now.”

“Oh…” He glances up, meets endless blue eyes that hold no ill intent, “Thank you, then.”

“Come on, if you’re done playing the happy couple, we’ve got a carriage waiting for us,” Shadis is the first to leave the room, and Levi can only follow Erwin with a sputtering protest. 

He wonders why the blonde doesn’t bother to correct him.


	3. Fraternise

Where it had been near freezing outside, the carriage is warm, Levi wonders if it’s their shared body heat, or if there’s a secret to keeping a carriage warm. Maybe the floor of it is on fire, he’d be the last to find that out. 

It’s strange to be sitting across from the man he both despises and lusts after, to face someone he barely knows and see a kindred spirit. Levi keeps finding himself confused and intimidated by this man, he’s never sure how to feel about him, and the desire to know more mounts with each moment in his company. 

“The man who is hosting us tonight is Volkhardt Schwerdtfeger.” Erwin is the first to break the silence, and Levi turns away from his observation of the city streets. 

“Tsk, how much practise did that take you to pronounce correctly?” he asks, can’t help but smirk when Erwin chuckles. 

“Hours, I’d bet,” Keith interjects, his arms folded, gaze out on the passing streets.

“Admittedly, I did spend the better half of an hour learning to say it.” the blonde rubs at the back of his neck, meets his eyes with a soft smile that threatens to break down Levi’s carefully constructed defences. 

“More like…” He frowns: there was nothing he could do with the man’s name to turn it into a joke. “Ah, fuck this, his name is stupid enough without changing it.” Erwin laughs, he blinks in surprise at the sight. 

“Just try it,” the blonde urges, “Volkhardt Schwerdtfeger”

Levi shifts in his seat with a smirk, “Volkhardt Schwert… Fuck, you forget his damn name halfway through.”

“Fucking ay, Lieutenant,” Keith chimes in, and there’s a smile in his eyes, clear in the creases at their edges, the slight curve of his mouth.

Erwin laughs again, his gaze hasn’t left Levi’s for some time, “Schwerdtfeger,” he repeats, and Levi rolls his eyes, folds his arm. 

“Schwerdtfeger… Tch, what a stupid name, his parents must hate him,” he looks to Erwin, who is still laughing, and frowns, “Stop that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Levi.” He sighs, sits back and seems to calm himself, “Once more, so I’m sure you’ve got it before we go in.”

Levi smiles, shakes his head “Up yours, Smith.” He’s caught off guard, and it’s set him on edge. Erwin isn’t acting as he’s used to, usually that’s a sign that something is wrong, or at least it is for other people. 

“Ah, that’s: up yours _Section Commander_ Smith.”

“All due respect, _sir_ , but fuck you.” Levi is the first to leave the carriage, holds the door open for his superior, who chuckles, and pats his shoulder. 

“Try and behave tonight, alright?” he leans close, and Levi can hear the smirk in his voice, “Let’s not have any more of your kinks brought to light, hm?”

He feels a dash of heat across his cheeks as Erwin pulls away, he can’t hide behind his hair, so he pushes ahead, and leads the way into the building. The warmth is a shock, and so different from the temperature outside that he feels a flush hit his face, and then the need for a drink. Music plays, nobles careen around a small dancefloor while other socialise off to the side, drinks in hand and fake laughs filling the room. The hall is beautiful, Levi will admit this much, but the company leaves much to be desired. 

“You’ll be alright if I leave you to mingle?” he flinches in surprise: he hadn’t heard Erwin coming, and he nods in reply, “Alright, find me if you need me.”

It’s amazing how Erwin shifts in personality: only minutes ago he was laughing and joking, and now he’s returned to the faithful follower of Commander Shadis. Maybe this was what Miche had meant. Were they already that close?

Did he want to get that close? Erwin might be letting him in, might be trying to repair whatever damage he thinks he’s done. Or he might be using this to placate Levi further, to make it easier to gain his loyalty. 

He’s just not sure. Lately, when it comes to Erwin, he never is. 

“Shouldn’t you be out looking for a murderer?”

Levi turns to Dok, and offers a sharp smile, “The underground is dangerous during the day, and deadly at night. I’m not as stupid as that thing on your face you call a moustache. My search goes on when morning comes…” he shifts, folds his arms and leans on the wall behind him. “For now, I’m here to observe, and to accompany my Commander.”

Dok makes a face that says he doubts Levi very much, but he says no more, and moves further into the room, away from him. It’s a relief, and he finds Erwin in the crowd, watches a false smile cross his face. He feels sorry for these nobles: they’ll never know what a real smile from Section Commander Erwin looks like. 

A small cluster of women block his view, all dressed in the finery of Sina. They are beautiful in their own way, but not what he wants in a person, and so he’s not interested in looking where most men would. 

“You’re Lieutenant Levi, aren’t you?” one asks, and there’s a hint of nervousness in her gaze, but it’s overpowered by both fascination and what looks like lust, he can’t be sure. 

“I am, Miss” he replies, drags his gaze from Erwin to meet hers, “Is there something I can do for you?”

“What’s it like, outside the walls?” another asks, and the first has a question of her own, “What is the Section Commander like in person?”

Levi represses a laugh, and smiles softly, “Outside those walls, if you look past the Titans, there is an unending horizon… it’s beautiful, in fact I could watch it for days without thinking of food or water, and be content in dying there.” He thinks she’s satisfied with the answer, judging from her gentle nod and the flash of emotion in her gaze. 

“As for the Section Commander… he is a very honest man, I’m afraid: his temperament here is his nature within the Scouts… sorry to disappoint you, but my superior officer is no mystery” he now understands why Miche was so reluctant to answer his own version of this question: Erwin clearly worked hard to create an image of himself among strangers, and Levi wouldn’t be the one to tear down that façade. Not for the entertainment of nobles. 

The conversation goes on for a time, and Levi answers their questions carefully, works to be sure he’s not giving anything vital away. In the periphery of his gaze he can spot Erwin and Keith flitting between crowds, appearing at home among these polished porcelain figures. Windup dolls, or marionettes, Levi thinks with some amusement: these nobles are as fake as these buildings’ marble columns. 

“I’m sorry, but I need some air.” He thinks they’re surprised at his sudden act of disinterest, but he doesn’t let that bother him. He strides across the room and out onto a balcony, leans against the guard rail and takes in a breath of the sharp, cold air. 

This, fraternising, is not an easy thing for him. He doesn’t like talking to these people, on display for examination like a prized stallion. He’s not from this part of the world, he doesn’t know who to talk fancy, to fake a smile, he only knows how to dance because it is like fighting, in some sense. They don’t care about things he cares about, they won’t starve, dehydrate, or freeze. They have doctors for when they fall ill, they don’t have to scrape for coin, trade pride, innocence, virginity, for maybe a week’s worth of food. 

Life is a stage that’s made to entertain them, in their eyes. He hates it. More than he’s ever hated anything before. 

He breathes, sighs, and turns his gaze to a cloud infested sky, shakes his head and turns around, sits on the guard rail of the balcony. If anyone could understand why this murderer was attacking the military, particularly those guarding the nobles, it was Levi. He had done the same, what feels like eons ago, for survival. Hatred was a different motive, but he understood it nonetheless. 

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”

He turns his gaze back down and meets Erwin’s eyes, thinks of snapping at him, but only manages to muster a glare. “I needed to be away from… all of that.”

“I… didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Levi.” Erwin steps forward, joins him at the railing and leans on it, looks up to him with a gaze he can’t quite read. “We can leave, if you like.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Shadis needs this, the Scouts need this… I’ll bear with it.” He shrugs, turns his body towards Erwin. 

He feels a gentle touch to his forearm, recognises the hand there, and glances down, then back to Erwin’s face. “There will be other events, ones that don’t require your presence.”

“Tsk, this guy is rich: that much is obvious. His money probably makes everyone else look like peasants.”

Erwin chuckles, his thumb is tracing small circles along Levi’s arm, and it’s sending small sparks of heat through him. “You’re not wrong.”

He leans forward to gain Erwin’s gaze once it slides away, takes hold of his furthest shoulder and pulls him around so that they are facing each other. “I will not burden you with my grudge against these pissants, Erwin. If you and Shadis need Shwerd-whatever’s money, then I won’t get in your way”

“Schwerdtfeger,” Erwin corrects him with a soft laugh, and it lifts his heart when he regains the attention of endless blue eyes, that remind him so much of the sky. He could fall in love with this man’s eyes alone. He narrows his gaze at the sight of a small scar that rests beneath Erwin’s left eye, long and thin, almost invisible from a distance. “Thank you, Levi.”

It takes him a moment to recognise that Erwin is whispering, that they’re close enough that he could pick out each shade of blue in the blonde’s eyes. That the hand on his forearm is spreading warmth through him, that it’s pooling within him. He’s forgotten the chill of the air completely.

“Section Commander Smith, there you are!” they both flinch in surprise, Levi shifts away fast enough that Erwin gasps out of fright. “We were beginning to think you’d run off on us.”

“Not at all.” Erwin recovers, false smile back in place, but Levi thinks he spots a light dash of pink on his face. He’s not sure, is still trying to calm his racing heart. “I was only speaking with my Lieutenant: as you can imagine, there is a great deal to plan for.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” The noble replies, and his gaze falls to Levi. Who slides off the railing, and closes the space between them, “A pleasure, Lieutenant.”

“Levi, this is Lord Volkhardt Schwerdtfeger, our host for this evening.” To his credit, Erwin pronounces this trussed up noble’s name flawlessly. 

“Pleasure’s mine, Lord Schwerdtfeger.” He answers, doesn’t miss the raised brow from Erwin in response to his manners. “I’m glad that you’re considering to support us.”

Erwin nods as the noble gushes, and Levi feels something in him glow at the approval, feels his shoulders straighten, and his confidence return. He lets Erwin take the conversation from him, stands and remains as pleasant as possible, refrains from acting disinterested. He glances to Erwin, and wonders if he’s having trouble controlling the fluttering of his heart, if he’s still warm from Levi’s touch as he is from Erwin’s. 

He excuses himself for a drink, and it is almost midnight when they finally leave: he’s abuzz with alcohol at that point, any worries dulled by the soft blanket of wine. He follows Erwin out, shakes hands where he must, even offers a small smile to their host, and then steps into the carriage. 

Shadis nods his approval once they step in and the doors close, "Not bad, Levi, you behaved yourself, and the nobles wouldn't stop talking about you... Erwin, Shwer-whatever-his-name-was is interested, and I'm wagering that's your doing."

Levi nods, turns his head away from his superiors and out to gaze at the passing streets. Feels his heart's steady beat within his chest, breathes freely now that he's away from the eyes of nobles. 

"Be nicer to Commander Dok, Levi." Keith adds, and he slides his gaze over to the Commander in reply, "If he doesn't like you, nobles will follow his lead. I know he's a shit, but play nice, alright?"

"Commander Dok is doing his best within the Military Police." Erwin interjects, and Levi remembers the blonde mentioning that they were friends, "What he thinks is right."

"Yeah," Levi doesn't say anything more, shrugs when Erwin raises a brow at him but remains silent. 

Shadis and Erwin speak on the ride back, and Levi spends the time tuning out, thinking on the day's events. About how it felt to be within lips distance of Erwin, of that welcome warmth that the blonde had put into him. It's distracting, takes his thoughts to places he couldn't speak of in polite company, and he refrains from growling in frustration, chastises himself in response to it. 

He still doesn't know what Erwin wants, can't trust him yet, not with his heart. He won't give that up as he has everything else to the Scouts, especially when it's so difficult to decipher if Erwin feels the same way. 

The carriage comes to a stop, and he is the first to step out, runs his hands through his hair to push it back into its usual style. He waits for Commander Shadis and Erwin, and walks beside them into the base, stops short of the superior officer’s quarters. 

"Again, Levi, thanks for behaving." Shadis farewells, "Make sure you're keeping Section Commander Smith informed about those murders."

"I... yes, of course." Levi blinks in surprise, he'd forgotten that he had to give reports, and he turns to Erwin, "If you've got time, I can give you one now?"

"It's late enough as it is Lieutenant," Erwin replies, rests a hand on his shoulder, "Get some rest, I'll be sure to come find you tomorrow morning." 

Shadis is long gone, and so Levi doesn't know if he approves, but he nods, and turns around to head to the soldier's quarters. Gently, Erwin takes hold of his wrist and turns him back around, pulls him close so that they are chest to chest. 

It's as though there's a small fire between them, burning and hot, attracting them to one another. When Erwin kisses him, it's as though someone adds fuel to the blaze. His lips are soft, hands warm where he places them on Levi's hips, and his blonde hair is like fine silk between his fingers. It's warm, heady, almost as though it’s not happening, and he opens his mouth to that intense heat, feels it consume his beating heart, and can't help a soft moan. 

Erwin pulls back, separates them by pushing against Levi's shoulders, and that warmth is gone faster than a fire without oxygen. "I..." he shakes his head, takes two steps away and it's almost too cold this distant from Erwin. "Good evening, Lieutenant."

Levi reels, watches the Section Commander's retreating back, is star struck for a long, breathless moment. Why had he pulled away? He shakes his head, starts the trek back to his own room with his hand shoved in a pocket, the other toying with the edges of the cravat around his neck. 

Was Erwin not satisfied? Did he expect more of Levi, or less? Was he testing him? Levi doesn't like the idea of being toyed with, fears it from Erwin Smith, who could turn armies on their heads with but a grin. 

He arrives at his room, undresses, but doesn't sleep for what feels like forever, worrying over what he would say to his Section Commander tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fun I had coming up with Lord Schwertferger's name was ridiculous, and purely self indulgent. Even I spent a little while practising it aloud, and spelt it wrong maybe six/seven times while writing the chapter.


	4. Lurch

When he wakes the next morning his wrists and neck ache beyond reason, his throat feels tight and foreign when he swallows, almost as if he’s still being choked. He’s thankful for the scarf he bought, it covers the angry purple bruises, and he steps out into the mess hall, pours himself a coffee and sits alone as always. He startles when a plate is slid in front of him, and blinks in surprise at the sight of Erwin sitting across from him. 

“Well, I’m here for your report, as promised.”

He’s rehearsed this, spent most of last night going over exactly what he’d say to Erwin. “I know that, whoever they are, they’re out for revenge… they’re using a unique blade, one I haven’t identified yet, and there are strange marks on the walls where the last officer was killed.” He shrugs, takes a sip of the coffee before him, picks at the food, “This guy’s not a hired killer, nor a professional… he’s just angry. Finding him is going to be the hard part.”

“Not bad for one day, Levi” Erwin replies, and still there’s nothing. Does he give a shit about _anything_? Is he as conflicted as Levi right now, or is he satisfied with only one kiss? Is he mad Levi didn’t stop him, or did he expect it? He can’t decipher anything, not from tone, or gaze, or even body language. 

He nods “Guess so” he answers, drags his gaze down to his hands, “Might make more progress today… I have a few ideas about where I'll turn to next.” He stabs at the food in front of him with a knife, “The weapon might be easier to find than anything else…”

“I trust your judgement, Levi. You know how people work better than most, and I have every confidence that you’ll find this killer.”

Levi huffs, raises a brow, “No pressure, then?”

“Not at all” Erwin’s lips turn up in a smile, and he stands, takes Levi’s empty mug and his almost full plate of food, “Good luck.”

He watches his Section Commander leave, clenches his jaw so that nothing traitorous passes his lips, and stands. He stalks out of the hall, enters the street and almost finds himself crushed by a carriage. He watches the road from then on, wary of becoming another dead body beneath a sheet. 

He’s visiting Evelyn again, she smiles when he enters the building, “Levi, good to see you again. What can I do for you?”

“I was thinking about that blade,” he moves to her, and scratches at his temple, “You said you’d take a mould of the wound?”

Evelyn nods, brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, “Said and did. I’ll get it for you.” She steps away from her desk, and walks to what Levi guesses is a back office. “Off to do more sleuthing, Lieutenant?”

“I may know someone who could help me find the blade,” he supplies, takes the small clay mould and pockets it. “So I suppose the answer’s yes.”

“Good luck with it,” the corner of her mouth twitches up into a smile, “You’re doing more than the MP’s, and that’s enough for me to have faith in you.”

“I… thanks” Levi nods jerkily, and leaves the undertaker’s, stomps through the knee-deep blanket of snow on the paths through the city. He claims his blades once more, checking they are sharp, that the gear sits as it should, before he descends again into the underground. 

When Kenny had abandoned Levi, left him to claw his way through life, he had left him with a blade. He still had it, hadn’t used it since the day he’d received it. The metal is blacked out, and the hilt is pure mother of pearl, lined at the edges with silver. He could have sold it: the blade was both expensive in make and owner: one of the royal family had once held it. 

But he’d kept it: had planned to return it to Ackerman the next time he saw him. To only use it to kill the man who’d betrayed his trust. 

He’d discovered the value of the blade in thanks to a jaded pawnbroker who went by the name Erich; Lux to those who didn’t know him personally. Lux worked in what was known as a black market, sold rare and illegal items to nobles and cutthroats alike. He was well-known, and feared by the people of the underground. 

“Here to finally sell that blade to me, Levi?”

He glowers at Lux, raises a brow at the man who has barely changed since they last spoke. The same hard amber eyes, though there are more lines at their corners now, and his hair is greyer.

“You might be wearin’ a dog’s uniform, but I’d recognise that pissed off look anywhere.” Those bright, almost inhuman eyes sparkle when Lux smirks, and Levi grimaces.

“Good for you, old man.” He approaches the counter and pulls free the clay mould in his pocket, “Know a blade that might match this?”

“Looking for a stick, are ya?” his smirk only turns to a grin when Levi doesn’t reply, shoves the mould into his wizened hands, “Nothin’ I’ve traded. Reckon I’d know a blade like that.”

“‘Bout as useful as a wet cloth on fire.” He retrieves the mould, pockets it and turns. He’s surprised at himself, at how this place’s way of speaking is coming back to him. 

“Oi, brat.” He rounds on Lux, and that gaze halts the insult on his tongue, “Gimme one of your blades a sec.” 

Cautious, Levi pulls free one of his blades, leaves the handle connected to the first in that scabbard. “Why?” 

“Just give it here,” he hands it over, watches those amber eyes harden, and waits, “You and the other lot share the same gear?”

“Nah” He pats at the scabbard on his right, “Ours is stronger, wider in the…” Hooks. The hooks on their gear are wider, and spread further, than the Military Police’s. No wonder his gear didn’t fit those marks on the wall, no wonder they’d seemed so familiar. “Our blades are thicker and tougher.”

“Almost matches that mould you gave me,” Levi hands it back, and nods at the proof when his blade almost slots into the gap. Lux hums, hands both items back to him, “Can’t think of anyone other than you, and your friends, who’d steal military gear.”

“Think I’m on some guy’s tail?” He pockets the mould, sheathes the blade and glowers at the sight of that smirk. 

“You got out, brat. No way you come back in willingly.” Lux drums his fingers against the counter, “Only if you’re lookin’ for someone.”

“Any word on Ackerman?” he asks out of pure habit now, and Lux shakes his head. 

“Slippery as an eel, your mentor.”

Levi hums, doesn’t respond as he leaves the store, and steps back into the dirty streets. He weaves around beggars, ignores dealers and thugs as he returns to the surface. The attendant for the Military Police’s gear has a soft gaze, softer hands, and Levi doubts this woman has wielded a blade since the day of her training.

“I need one of your blades, and a hook from your gear,” he lays both hands flat on the table that separates them, and she scowls at him. Compared to his own, it looks like a pout. 

“Are you authorised to take our gear at will? Last time you had it, you murdered good people.” She thinks she’s being smart, that she’s inspiring guilt in him. 

“The gear. Or do you want me to get your Commander down here?” he levels her with a glare, and when he gets no response, he raises a brow.

“Commander Dok won’t do anything for you, we both know that.” She sneers, “Off you go, now. Back to your master.”

He opens his mouth to curse at her, but refrains, turns on his heel, and heads back to the underground. His mother had taught him to respect women, even the awful ones, and even now he obeyed her lessons. He had hoped to compare the marks of the hooks, the mould to the blade, just to be sure he wasn’t chasing the wrong theory. 

Now, he’d have to hope for the best. 

He returns to the alley where he’d been shown to the day before, grapples up to the roof and examines the marks there with a frown. They’re quite clean, as though the user knew where to grapple to, and the depth of the hook suggests they knew how the gear worked. 

So maybe not just an angry thug, then.

When he, Farlan, and eventually Isabel, had stolen gear from the Military Police, they had practised with them first. Levi had been cautious of being outclassed by their enemies, had memorised each twist and turn of the underground maze people called the streets. 

The marks on the roof told the same story: this guy knew what he was doing. 

He feels a sharp tug on his back, stumbles forward at the jerk of his hood over his head and falls to his hands and knees. He glares up at the sound of wires hissing, follows their trail to the sight of a hooded figure, military blades drawn, a smile visible beneath the cowl of his hood. 

“They sent Lieutenant Levi after me?!” that grin widens, “Alright! Not quite the Commander, but definitely a step up from the military!”

Levi stands, and draws his blades without a word, turns them over in hand and charges forward, leaps across the roof between them and lands at a run. He darts back the minute they swing, ducks beneath the sword and brings his own up. The hiss and clang of blades colliding echoes through the streets, he hears people below expressing their confusion. A hard shove pushes him back, and Levi springs from the first foot that lands, swings, misses and hits the floor on his side. 

He blocks the next strike just in time, pushes back on his attacker’s sword and stands, strikes with the other. It hits another perfect block. 

“You’re much better at this than those military dogs,” They laugh as Levi steps back, holds one blade up before him, the other poised to strike behind him. He flips the one behind him into a forward grip, keeps the other as it is. “And I’ve never seen anyone fight like you… So be it: I’ll let you go.”

Levi’s jaw clenches, “You’re not going anywhere.” He affirms, charges forward and meets a wall of thick smoke. Smothering his coughs, he hears the direction that they flee in, and follows on his own gear. They take him through thin streets, into buildings and up crumbling flights of stairs, around sharp bends, through tight corners. Levi is better at this than some street tough, and he is graceful where they are hurried, he gains speed around corners rather than loses it. 

“You’re not losing me!”

He’s within arms’ reach when another hooded figure comes crashing through a boarded-up window, and sends both feet into his side, knocks him into the wall before following Levi’s attacker.

He hits the ground from several stories up, comes crashing through a cart of goods and into the stone floor. The merchants in front of the cart cry out in shock, scramble to gather their goods. 

“What the fuck _was_ that?!” An older voice, jaded by this underground hell, but not enough to have seen everything. 

“I… it’s a Scout” the other is much younger, and he hears them digging him free of their goods. “I’d know those wings anywhere.”

Levi attempts to help, feels a sharp twinge in his ribs and grunts in pain, touches to the source with a grimace. A box, balancing on another precariously, drops onto his middle, and he cries out, “Shit!”, feels the merchants stop for a moment. 

“You’re conscious?” it’s the older voice, and suddenly he can see their face, isn’t shielded by a dozen crates. “Jeez, they train you tough, eh?” 

Levi takes the hand offered to him, limps to his feet and favours the side that wasn’t abused by first a wall, then the ground. The right side, the side that was kicked, hurts, but he can bear that pain. He groans softly, almost loses his balance and stumbles into the younger man, feels the world reel before him, tilt and sway and fade for a moment. 

“I need to… get to the surface,” Everything is muddled, his head and chest hurts, it’s distracting. “I’ll pay you to get me there.”

It’s a younger body that supports him: he can tell because their grip doesn’t shake like the hand that had helped him to his feet. “We should help, dad.” The son implores, “I can do it, and I won’t take long, the 9th stairwell isn’t far from here.”

His father mumbles something Levi can’t make out, and he fishes through his jacket, pulls free a collection of notes, “Dunno if it’ll cover it but… for the damage.” The man’s livelihood is at stake, and Levi knows how hard it will be for him to come back from this. Had ruined trade for people like him back when he’d lived here. 

Survived here, he’d hardly call it living.

“You- Thank you.” He’s sure the old man was going to berate him now, maybe he remembered he wasn’t talking to his son. “I didn’t expect that”

“Right,” Levi answers, and gently, he and the man’s son move off. 

His grip is gentle, but sure and supportive, “I didn’t know Scouts even came down here.”

“Eh… they don’t. Military dogs are dying, so really I don’t have much of a say in it.” He can see the stairwell from here, and is thankful the walk isn’t far. His feet are threatening to buckle beneath him, his vision dares to darken completely from time to time. 

“Oh” the grip on his side tightens for a moment, “I see… well, I guess that makes sense. You guys are usually out killing Titans, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies, “Cleaning them out so the nobles stop shitting themselves back here.”

The kid laughs, and he represses a smile, glares at the toll collectors, whose eyes are only on the youth currently supporting him. “Military goes up free. But you… you’re a merchant, eh? Waddaya think, Al?”

“Reckon 500 sounds good, for a merchant.” The pair of them laugh, and Levi curses, pulls together the last of his funds and tries not to react. 

“Wish we could use you worthless shits to bait Titans.” He says as they make their way up the steps. “Though they’d probably throw you right back up.”

“It can’t be helped,” the boy tells him, blinks in the waning sunlight, “The bastards just do as they please.” He lets Levi stand, catches him the minute he stumbles, “Whoever those guys were, they really messed you up.”

He chuckles, “I think the wall did that.” He searches the area for a stick, or something similar that might support him, and spots Miche in the crowd. It’s not hard to do: Zacharius towers over everyone, and it’s a useful tactic that Erwin often uses to intimidate. “Get me to that guy there.”

The kid obliges, limps him over and Miche raises a brow, furrows both when Levi sways on his feet, catches and lifts him when he stumbles. “You’ll be okay?” There’s genuine worry in the boy’s eyes, and Levi waves a hand dismissively.

“Sure,” he offers a nod, and the kid dashes off after nodding in reply, “Not a princess, Zacharius.”

“You’re acting like one, short stuff.” Miche’s grip only tightens as he walks back to the base, Levi tries not to show how embarrassed he is, hides his face in the taller man’s chest. “What happened?”

“Almost had the guy… there’s more than one. They ambushed me.”

“The astonishing Lieutenant Levi? No, say it isn’t so.” he hears the mocking tone to Miche’s voice, can imagine his expression, and beats at his chest in response to it.

“Fuck off” his vision blackens, and the last thing he hears before the rush of silence is a chuckle.


	5. Step Forward

Levi’s senses return to him in snatches, he hears muffled conversations, opens his eyes and catches a glimpse of movement. They fall closed again, and his hearing fades too, as though he’s floating away from everything, never to return. 

When he manages to finally open his eyes, it’s to a candlelit room, the wood dyed a soft yellow by the flame. He brings a hand up to his forehead, feels a harsh twitch in his side, and gives up on the movement. 

Erwin is fast asleep at his bedside; arms folded, head tilted down, resting on his chest. He has dark bruises beneath his eyes, but with them closed he looks calm. The furrow in his brow disappears, and there’s something gentle about him in place of imposing Section Commander Erwin. He looks oddly peaceful, beautiful in the flickering candlelight, his blonde hair somehow fairer when it’s struck by the yellow glow of flame.

Levi closes his eyes: he needs to stop being so charmed by Erwin. He’s going to get himself hurt, the blonde doesn’t want him, if the night before was any sign. The man was on the fast track to Commander, he didn’t need some nobody like Levi getting in his way, and muddying his love life, to worry about.

The guy probably wanted to start a family, live a good life, after the war, he couldn’t have that with Levi. It wasn’t in him, whatever Erwin was looking for, and he wouldn’t let the blonde get his hopes up.

He wouldn’t let himself get hurt.

He shifts in an attempt to sit up, and grimaces at the sharp pain the movement brings his left side. His hand flies to the area instinctively, and he groans softly, tips his head back and grits his teeth. He feels rather than sees Erwin stir in the seat beside him, hears what sounds like him stumbling, and he frowns in response to it.

“Don’t like being fussed over, sir.” His voice is gravelly, as though it hasn’t been used in some time. He thinks he’s been out for longer than the medics expected, if Erwin is here.

“I…” he feels the bed dip, imagines Erwin has hesitantly placed a hand there, and he pats the bed in encouragement. The bed dips further, “Had to be sure you were alright. You gave Section Commander Zacharius quite the scare.”

Levi chuckles, opens his eyes, “Good, about time he got what was coming to him. M’alright, by the way, reckon I’ll be back on my feet in no time.” Once he gets his feet under him, and some caffeine into his system, he’s going to charge back into the underground and return the gift those murderers gave him. “Unless the medics are saying different?”

It’s strange to see Erwin’s face so open, so easy to read, and he doesn’t miss the way the blonde’s brow furrows, the look of concern that swallows his gaze. “The left side of your rib cage has more fractures than solid bone, but there isn’t any internal bleeding. Your left hip was thought to have broken, but you were lucky. Your right side is bruised, and the muscles around your ribs strained.” His Commander sighs, lifts his hand, but drops it back to the bed, “Until you woke, no one could be sure what happened… but the medics did what they could.”

“Almost had the bastard.” He affirms, keen to banish any doubts Erwin has been having, “But he had friends, and they got in the way.” He shifts to his right, wonders what would happen if he reached for Erwin’s hand and took it in his. “He found me, actually… dunno what this guy’s plan is, but he’s cocky.”

“Is that a good thing, in your eyes, or a bad one?” Erwin’s gaze has moved back to that impassive look that sets Levi’s jaw, but those blue eyes are still endless, still easy to get lost in.

“I…” he hasn’t given it any thought at all, if he’s honest, “Don’t know… probably find that out too late. Cocky usually means sloppy, so I guess I’ll see.”

Erwin smirks, “You sound more like yourself.”

“What?”

“Your way of speaking, I noticed that since your friends died, it hasn’t seemed characteristic of you: less swearing, more pleasantries…. You sound more like when we first met…. I suppose I missed hearing it.” It tells him nothing about what his Section Commander is thinking, but he’s not wrong. He’d made himself sound a little smarter, a little more level-headed, to fit in with the Scouts. Being back in the underground rekindled his old way of speaking, and he hasn’t had time to get rid of it yet. 

“You’re so sentimental,” he notes, “About the weirdest shit.” Gently, because his curiosity won’t let it lie, he reaches out, and takes Erwin’s hand, feels the blonde shift up the bed. His hand is warm, and so much bigger than his, less delicate: his fingers are thicker, palms are broader, and his skin is tanner. 

Erwin hums softly, his hand is lax, easy to manipulate, and Levi wonders how much this man trusts him. “I thought you’d been killed. I’m allowed a little sentimentality.”

“That’s a bit… dramatic,” he glances away from the hand in his and up into blue eyes, “Don’t you think?”

“You’re a valuable asset.” they both flinch at his knee-jerk response, and Erwin closes his eyes, shakes his head, “I just made it sound as though you were a possession. I’m sorry.”

“I’m following your lead, Section Commander.” Levi says, unsure of what else to reply with, “Like everyone else… If you regard us all as possessions, I suppose that makes it easier to decide what to do.” He glances down at their hands again, then away and to the nearest wall, “I don’t mind. Think of me as a blade if it makes things easy. I’ll be a tool, and you can use me as you please.”

He doesn’t usually talk about how he’s feeling, but this is something he thinks Erwin needs to hear. He doesn’t have to seduce Levi to earn his trust, or for him to follow. He’s doing that already. There’s nothing left for him anywhere else.

“Levi….” Erwin sounds shocked, his voice is a bare whisper, and he clears his throat, “Did you manage to make any headway with the weapon? You spoke about it as though it was iconic.”

He withholds a growl. Erwin so easily changes the topic, keeps professional distance even though there’s something _here_. Or at least Levi thinks there is, he’s probably deceiving himself, letting false hope get the better of him. 

“Military blades, and gear… I think each victim has had theirs stolen… why, I don’t know.” He shrugs, it hurts his ribs, but he ignores that, “But it means that there’s a group of people in the underground with weapons and killing intent.”

“Skill?” Erwin asks, but his gaze is somewhere else, unfocused and drawn away from Levi. 

“They’re good, but we could put them down, no problem. MP’s only have trouble because they can’t fight worth shit.” He sits up further, swings his legs around and attempts to stand. He stops when the pain in his ribs becomes unbearable, and sits next to Erwin. 

“Commander Shadis should be informed” he won’t even look at Levi, and it both worries and frustrates him to no end. “Try not to overexert yourself, I’ll be back in a moment.” 

Levi reaches out to stop Erwin, but is too slow to catch his sleeve, and he’s forced to watch the blonde leave without a word. He’d wanted to ask what was wrong, to demand answers for the kiss they’d shared. Instead, he’s left with a whirlwind of questions, and to distract himself, he tries to stand again. 

By the time Erwin returns, he’s managed a stumbling lap of the room. He’s exhausted by the effort, glances up to the blonde and meets his gaze, tries to approach him and loses the strength in his legs.

The blonde catches him before he meets the ground, and Levi gets his feet under himself before he can be fussed over, presses a hand to the close by wall. “You’re planning on stumbling into the underground and dying in front of this group?”

“Tch, shut up. I’m not just going to sit around and let more people die.” He pushes away from the wall, and slowly paces the length of the room, “What’d Shadis have to say?”

“He’s… We’re keeping this information between us, and he’s asked that I help you, given your injuries.” Erwin follows his pacing, hovers as though he’s afraid Levi will fall.

“Nah… don’t need the help.” he shakes his head, “Shadis needs to think about what losing you could do to the Scouts.” He won’t take Erwin down with him: he’s not easy to miss in a crowd, and he’s of higher rank. Giving the impression to the murderer that he’s important won’t do them any good. 

“This isn’t a request, Levi,” Erwin rests a hand on the wall in front of him, stops Levi’s pacing with ease. “I know you don’t like working with others, but you can’t fight in this state.”

“Tch, watch me, I’ve-”

Erwin rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezes so that Levi is forced to be silent, or call out in pain, “I won’t watch you kill yourself.”

He blinks in surprise, feels the grip on his shoulder relax, and he shifts his feet, “You… what?”

“I am grateful that you want to give your all,” Erwin’s eyes aren’t hard this time, they’re full of concern, and for once he’s an open book. “But I won’t lose you to second rate thugs and a few fractured ribs.”

“Because you need me?” he bats the hand on his shoulder away, retreats two steps and separates himself from Erwin. He won’t be toyed with, and in this state, he’s afraid of getting hurt, of falling for this man’s ploy, of being fooled by his own feelings. “Because I’m a valuable asset, because you need my strength?”

“You-”

“Which is it?” Levi steps forward, feels his blood coursing through his veins, recognises strength where there should be none. Ignores that the pounding of his heart is fear, that the shake in his voice is emotion. “Am I a tool? Or something else? Do you need me, or my skill? You talk in circles, Smith, and I’m tired of trying to guess at what you want.”

He feels some guilt, because Erwin is vulnerable, for whatever reason, and he’s taking full advantage of that to make some sense of their situation. But he’s been feeling vulnerable for months on end, and their kiss has only made him feel weak, confused, and afraid of his Section Commander. 

He doesn’t like being afraid. 

The silence stretches for what feels like an eternity, Erwin closes his eyes, and breathes out in what seems like a sigh. “It… You need to control your emotions, Lieutenant. I’m not the only one here who isn’t transparent.”

“Don’t turn this on me, you bastard,” he growls, grinds his teeth, “Whatever the answer is, you’re avoiding it, and it pisses me off.”

Erwin opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say is lost to the knock on the door, and a Scout enters, salutes. “Apologies for the intrusion, sirs, but a Miss Evelyn Kirchwey has asked I find Lieutenant Levi.”

“What is it?” he has to refrain from snapping at her, steps away from Erwin, uncurls his fists. 

“Another murder,” she tells him, and he stalks out of the room, the Scout on his tail. “They’ve brought the body back to the undertaker’s office.”

“Right,” he’s limping, can feel the stretch of muscle in his rib cage, and he looks back to realise Erwin isn’t following. “Thank you, I’ll get there on my own.”

The Scout salutes, and darts away while he collects his coat, then steps out into the street. He shivers at the cold, hunches his shoulders against it and picks up his pace. It’s hard to breathe, and it hurts when he inhales, but he does his best not to show it as he steps into the undertaker’s. 

The cold is worse, it hurts his ribs when he tenses up, and he greets Evelyn with a cough, “So, what form of torture was he subjected to?”

She purses her lips, wordlessly pulls back the sheets and bares the underside of the man’s forearms. His chest is bare; the only cut is that which killed him: a blade to the heart. He is pale, but it’s clear the murder only occurred recently. 

It’s almost uncharacteristic, until he notes the scarring on the man’s forearms. It is old, maybe by two days, so it was done before this victim died. His eyes widen at the message the killer has left there. 

‘HELLO LIEUTENANT’


	6. Vestige

“A direct challenge, then?” he asks, raises his gaze from the harsh, messy lettering, “He’s either desperate, or confident.”

“Which is better?” It’s almost the same question Erwin had asked him a few days ago, and he shrugs in response to it, feels a pull in his ribs and takes a sharp breath in. “Are you alright?”

“Neither is good: desperate means he’s dangerous, confident means he’s likely to up the ante…. Both make finding him harder. I think that my apparent lack of interest might be what has caused… this” he gestures to the body, and turns away, ignores the second question.

“Do you have a plan?” she’s concerned for his health; he can see it in her gaze. 

Levi breathes in, it’s sharp, hurts beyond belief. “I need to be prepared to fight them… last time they caught me off guard… it won’t happen again.” He won’t be fooled again, not by thugs, just the same as he refuses to let Erwin fool him the same way he fools nobles into funding the Scout Regiment. 

He must catch these killers, and he isn’t planning on giving them a chance to fight back. “Evelyn, keep me updated on what happens here; for the moment, I’m done with bodies. Stay safe, and let Dok know I’m still investigating…”

“Sure,” she nods, pats him on the shoulder as he makes to exit the undertaker’s, “I’ll keep his uniformed idiots off you, and I’ll try to be sure this one stays here.”

“Thank you, Evelyn,” he nods to her, deeply enough that it’s almost a bow, “I owe you.”

He waves to her as he leaves, and trudges through the snow back to base. Moves downstairs, to a lab underground, and shivers again at the chill, feels his breath shudder for a different reason. His ribs, or the muscles around them, ache when he breathes in, or stretches, too fast. 

“Four-Eyes?” his voice echoes grossly off the walls, sounds odd to his own ears, and he hears her call out, “Just a second!”

She emerges, her hair in a state of array, glasses askew, hanging on to her nose, “Levi… it’s been a while, what can I do for you?”

“You ever seen someone make a smoke bomb?” he asks, folds his arms and finds a wall to drive his back against, straightens his back and focuses on breathing. 

“Well…” Hanji taps the pen in her hand against her nose in thought, folds her arms, “I know _how_ they’re made… but no, I can’t say I have… why?”

“Do you think you could tell me where and how one was made, if I could get one to you?” 

“Mhm, provided it’s whole when you bring it here, I’d say I could manage,” her eyes flash, and Levi shifts his feet, “Is this to do with the murders?”

“Yeah,” he’s not keen to give details, knows she’ll tell Erwin whatever he omits, and he refuses to accept help. He can do this, even if everyone else thinks he can’t, “I’ll try and bring something back tonight… you’ll be up?”

“Of course,” Hanji waves a hand, “I barely sleep, so don’t worry too much about timing.”

Levi nods, pushes off the wall and offers a small smile, “Thanks, Four-Eyes… do you think you can keep this quiet from Smith?”

“Nope,” she shakes her head, offers an apologetic smile and shrugs. “Sorry Levi, but he’s too good at reading my expression…”

“Right, I get it,” he shrugs: it was worth asking, and he takes his leave, steps out into the chilled air. 

Smoke bombs are not a common commodity in the underground: they are hard to make, and harder to buy. This means that often, each bomb is individual to its maker. The clever could track the materials, and deduce the area the bomb was made, and who made it, with ease. 

Levi isn’t quite clever, but he knows people who were, knows if he snatched a bomb from their murderer he could catch them by surprise. Going into the underground without a clue about who he is fighting will get him killed, especially in this state. He figures that once more can’t hurt, however, and it’s all he needs, if he plays his cards right. 

The wind punches out of him when he collides with a solid surface. He hits the snow-capped street with a shout of surprise. He glares up at Erwin, who looks surprised at Levi’s presence, and he bats away the hand offered to him. He stands, wheezes, coughs, and manages a watery glare, “What?”

“Another event,” Erwin explains, folds his arms and steps back, “You’ve been asked to attend.”

“Tell them I’m busy,” he snaps, turns around and stalks away, but turns back to bite out, “Respectfully: You can do that.”

“Lieutenant!” Erwin’s voice is hard, enough that he stops. Angles his head so that he can look at his Section Commander from the corner of his eye. “Do _not_ walk away from me when I am talking to you.”

“We’re done, _sir_ ,” he replies, sardonic, tosses his head and turns to walk away, “Enjoy the party.”

He reels when a hand grips his wrist and spins him around, pulls him so that he and Erwin are face to face, close enough that their noses are touching. The puff of Erwin’s hot breath tickles his face, brushes his hair into his eyes, and he glares all the harder when their gazes meet. 

“Whatever your issue is, Lieutenant, I am still your superior, and you will show me _respect_.” There’s no argument in Erwin’s eyes, and Levi swallows thickly in response to it, licks his lips, “Am I understood?”

He ducks his gaze, pushes against Erwin’s chest and breaks the blonde’s grip, “Fuck you.”

The back of Erwin’s hand hits him, and it’s the same force of one of Miche’s kicks, he stumbles, catches his feet, and spits. “Care to try again, Lieutenant?” He’s never heard Erwin’s voice sound this hard, this unforgiving… this detached.

Levi nods, grits his teeth, clenches his fist, “Fuck you, _sir_ ,” and swings. He sees red when the punch connects, watches the look of first surprise, then anger, cross the blonde’s face. 

Erwin is weaker than Miche: he’d been told that fact when he’d first joined the Scouts. But he’s immoral, fast, and better at reading the situation. Levi is cautious: he’s injured, and anything that connects will hurt, will likely put him down for good, and win Erwin the fight, then the argument.

He ducks beneath Erwin’s first punch, steps forward and misses elbowing him in the jaw by a hair. Levi darts to the left, lifts his foot up to kick, and Erwin grips him by the ankle, pulls him close and, only because he stumbles, fails to punch him in the throat. He wrenches his leg free and coughs, almost chokes on his own breath and steps away from Erwin, ducks beneath another punch and rolls to gain some distance. He lands a kick to the blonde’s side, and steps in, knees his opponent in the ribs, and cries out when Erwin’s fist connects with his stomach. He stumbles back, feels pressure behind his legs and is swept off his feet. 

His ribs burn, and breathing is not only a challenge, but impossible to do with any speed. Erwin pins his wrists above his head with one hand, strikes him as before, and grips his jaw to keep Levi’s eyes on him. 

“You still can’t fight worth shit, Lieutenant,” He growls, and stands, dusts himself off. “Get up, and make yourself presentable,”

There’s nothing to say he’s hurt Erwin, in fact the blonde looks the same as he did before Levi had punched him, aside from the red mark on his jaw. He stands, catches his breath, and turns on his heel, defeated. He’s still not strong enough to win in a fight against his Section Commander, still unable to win out despite the training he’s undergone. 

He feels weak. 

Levi dresses himself, takes a long look at the cravat he’s been wearing since Erwin had given to him, and leaves it on the table in his room. He does keep his shirt buttoned up, and wears the shorter, thinner jacket. He can’t bring any weapons to these events, but he slips his knife – Ackerman’s knife, he reminds himself: it will never truly be his, not while that man still breathes – into his boot. 

He steps out into the chill of the evening, shivers and feels the pull of his ribs, but tries not to show he is cold to either Shadis or Erwin, who look to him when he approaches. 

Shadis offers an apologetic frown, “You’ve got a murderer to catch, and these nobles are making you play nice with them…. What happened to your face?”

“Lost a fight” he replies, flicks his gaze to Erwin, who offers a cool glare. 

“Maybe playing nice with nobles will stop you from earning anymore bruises.” He snaps, glances to the carriage as it arrives. 

“Fuck you,” he drawls, steps past the blonde without a glance. 

This time, there’s no chuckle, no joking nature, on the ride to the party. Levi spends the journey with his arms folded, legs crossed, gaze out the window. He tunes out the conversation across from him. Focuses on the murder case, sometimes loses himself to the scenery that passes by the window. 

This party is less grand, less trussed up, than the last. It’s undeniably hosted by a noble, the gold filigree that pollutes the walls and cutlery, and the heady scent of expensive wine in the air. He feels sick, as though he’s allergic to this finery, and he shifts on his feet, sticks to Erwin’s side and stays silent. He’s annoyed, wants to strangle the man beside him, but knows two things: doing so will create a scene, and that Erwin is looking for some sort of reaction.

Levi won’t give him one, not if he can help it. 

The bruise on his cheek is purpling, he sees it each time he passes a mirror, or glass, and he wants to scowl it away, but keeps his expression neutral. He’s on show here, and he must present himself properly, or risk the Scout’s reputation. 

So, he stays quiet, drinks, and only speaks when spoken to. When the talk of money and standing becomes too much to bear, when he feels as though he’ll explode if he hears any more talk of the Scouts as though they are expensive trinkets, he steps outside. Another balcony, and annoyingly it brings back memories of the kiss he had shared with Erwin. 

“You’re ignoring me Lieutenant,” the voice is familiar, and he turns to see that same hooded figure, stretched out on the balcony railing. “It’s actually started to hurt my feelings.”

“That why you wrote me that note?” he snaps, knows he can’t do anything if this guy decides to flee, and doesn’t move. 

“Hm? No, no… that was one of my friends: he got a little carried away, see… He’s a big fan of you, and your Section Commander.” The figure shrugs, stands on the railing and looks out to the horizon, “Ah well, guess that can’t be helped: I’m a fan of you, so I should be able to sympathise.”  
Levi wordlessly pulls the knife he’d stowed in his boot free, it hisses, glitters in the muted light from inside. The hooded figure chuckles, “Good, I was hoping you wouldn’t just stand there.”

Levi swings, and the figure darts back, pulls free both swords from their stolen gear and charges forward, puts Levi on the defensive. His ribs still burn, and he’s exhausted from his fight with Erwin, but he ducks, weaves, and slashes at them with ease. He blocks both blades with his knife, and the clash rings through the still night. He hears boot steps, pushes back against his opponent and kicks them in the shin. They freeze like startled deer when the Military Police, and his Commanding Officers, step out onto the balcony. 

The figure dashes away, leaps from the balcony railing and to the neighbouring roof. Levi moves to follow, hears Erwin call “Lieutenant!” to stop him, but he ignores it, leaps and lands on the roof across from theirs. He rolls to recover, switches to a backwards grip on his knife, and charges after the hooded figure. 

He leaps to the next roof, catches the edge and hoists himself up, keeps his eyes on his target, tries not to lose his footing on the rooves, where the frozen over tiles have no grip. His lungs burn, ribs ache with each passing breath. When he leaps, it’s as though he weighs a tonne, as though he’s sinking mid-air. 

Thanks to his manoeuvre gear, the hooded figure is having no trouble keeping ahead, and Levi realises, as his breathing grows laboured, his legs threaten to give out on him, that this man is toying with him. 

He’s exhausted, his lungs are having trouble taking in air, and his legs shake beneath him, he hesitates with each leap, and tastes copper in his mouth. He stops. Gasps for air. Hears the hooded figure approaching him, and grips the knife still in his right hand, knuckles dead white. 

“You’re easy to fool, Lieutenant,” Levi stands straight, takes a fighting stance, and feels his legs shaking, his lungs wrenching in air. The hooded figure pulls free a sword, examines it, as though bored, “Hard to kill, though… If falling from buildings doesn’t do it, what does?” he holds the blade near Levi’s throat. 

He bats it away with his knife, sucks in another breath in vain, “You and your friends need to turn yourself in…. it’ll save me the effort of gutting you.” He can’t breathe: his chest is being crushed, lungs closed off. 

“Really?” The figure laughs, jabs at his chest with the blade, not hard enough to draw blood. “Doesn’t look like you can do anything right now: Humanity’s Strongest Soldier indeed.” His lips curl up in disgust, and Levi shifts backward, feels that he is close to the roof’s edge. Wonders if he has the strength to throw the murderer from the roof.

He grips the blade in his left hand, feels the sting of the blade breaking his skin, and tugs the hooded figure close, wrestles with the sword, resorts to gripping his wrist, and trying to saw through the man’s arm with his knife. They scream, wrench his grip free and shove him, clutch their arm in response to the pain. 

Levi doesn’t lose his grip on his knife or the blade, but he loses his footing, catches the roof for a moment before he falls. This time, he doesn’t remember hitting the ground.


	7. Liquesce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey this was my favourite chapter to write! There's a lot of talking, and not really a lot of action but... it's good talking so yeah. 
> 
> If you can't tell, I'm nervous about this chapter.

Levi wakes in pain, grits his teeth to it as he forces his eyes open, rubs at them with a bandaged hand, and waves away the medic that flies to his side. He aches all over, his very heart and lungs seem sorer than his muscles, than his broken bones. 

“Fuck.” He groans it out, curls his right hand into a fist as he sits himself up, “Fuck,” once more, for good measure, because the first had been such a dismal effort. He aches, breathing seems harder to do now than it had been on whatever night he’d chased that murderer down. 

He worries that this time it’s been months, years even, and he stands, feels the world sway beneath him before he regains his balance. He blinks to clear his vision, to gain some form of control back over his own body, and he growls in protest when the medic sits him back down. 

“You are injured.” His eyes are a hard blue, they remind him of Erwin’s. “And have fallen from two buildings within a week: you are not leaving here, not without being watched, and cared for, for at least a week. Fair?”

He chuckles: medics have all the authority in the world here. Even though his rank is higher, he can’t do much aside from make a nuisance of himself. “No, I have a murderer to catch,” he can feel the heat of this man’s glare, and shifts so that he's sitting comfortably. “But I suppose I have no choice.”

The medic sighs, nods, and his shoulders fall as he kneels before Levi, prods and pokes. Works to see where his injuries are greatest, “Thank you: I didn’t fancy fighting you: I’ve seen you and Zacharius spar.”

“In this state, I doubt I could muster the force to punch you,” he shakes his head, curls his left hand into a fist, grimaces at the shoots of pain that crawl up his arm. “What a sad mess… The longer I’m here, the more killing that guy does.”

“Section Commander Erwin is attempting to keep up the pressure.” The medic uncurls his fist, unfurls the bandage and examines the dark, angry cut on his hand, cleans it out with a damp cloth. 

He hisses in response to small barbs of pain that course up his arm, closes his eyes and tries to relax, “Does he know I’m awake?”

“He will when he returns,” his hand is bandaged, and the medic pats his shoulder, blue eyes a little softer, the promise of reprimand gone. “Which should be soon, so stay. Here.” It’s as though he’s talking to a child, and Levi thinks maybe he deserves that: he’s too stubborn for his own good sometimes. “I’ll be back, and I’ll break your legs if I find out you’ve been walking around.”

Levi nods, stays seated on the edge of the bed, casts his gaze around his room. The first time he’d gotten hurt, he’d not been comfortable among other soldiers, vulnerable, naked and wounded, and had kicked up a fuss worthy of being called a tantrum. Erwin had moved him, gave him privacy, and the fear, the instinctual need to fight anything that touched him while injured, vanished. 

It was a fact, in his mind, that alone, he was stronger.

He can’t entertain himself, counts the cracks in the brickwork of the walls, swings his legs and kicks the base of his bed. He glances to his bedside table, frowns at the cravat he had left there, leans over the bed and takes it in hand. It’s still soft to the touch, thin and silky beneath his rough, calloused fingers; clean, too, a pure white that he’s likely to dirty when they leave the capital. He’ll need more, or to clean this one as often as he cleans his shirt. 

The door opens, Erwin enters, and despite the dark circles beneath his eyes, relief grips his expression, removes the icy callousness he’d been airing only seconds before he’d opened to door. Levi offers a small smile, and a shrug, “I almost had him.” The anger at their fight is gone, along with most of his memory of that night.

“You scared the _shit_ out of me,” the blonde sighs, shakes his head as he sits beside Levi, rests a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Stronger than most, you know,” he assures, ducks his head to hide behind his hair, feels Erwin’s gaze all the same, “Sorry.” He meets Erwin’s gaze when the blonde brushes his hair from his face, and his brow is furrowed in confusion, so Levi shrugs. “For being an ass, before the event,” he ducks back beneath his hair after pulling away from Erwin’s grip, “I was… angry, I think”

“You think?”

He replaces the cravat on the bedside table. “Well, it’s a lot of things,” he clasps his hands together, wrings them, ignores the pain in his left, “I dunno…”

“I retaliated,” Erwin squeezes his shoulder. He feels it like he’d feel the pressure of a jacket, it’s just as warm, just as welcoming, “Sometimes you make me forget to think.”

“Tch, that’s a strange thing: You not thinking.” Gentle, and cautious, he raps his knuckles against Erwin’s temple. “Your head’s always full of planning… Heh, maybe logic freezes up when it’s met with… met with an impulsive person.” It’s always emotions that give him trouble when he talks: explaining them, feeling them, _acting_ on them. Erwin complicates things further, because his head is a typhoon of thoughts, heart a cacophony of intentions, body completely trounced by what he wants to do, and what he’s afraid of. 

Maybe that’s love. If so: he hates it more than he hates feeling weak. 

“I’ve only got you to test that theory on.” Erwin chuckles, ducks his head and runs a hand through his hair, sends it into a state of pure disarray, “So I don’t know…. It might be that you can annoy me, and put me in awe, in the same instance.”

“In awe?” he’s surprised, glances up and away from his hands, to Erwin, “You’re joking. I’m nothing to worship, or follow… Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing with a squad.” He leaves out the part where he’s always confused about what his Section Commander is thinking, the part where he says how frustrated he is that the blonde’s emotions are so shrouded by stoicism. 

This is the first time, he thinks – since the death of Isabel and Farlan – either of them have been so honest with each other. The first time they haven’t been pretending to be officer and subordinate. 

It's strange that this doesn’t feel like a trap. 

“You’re empathetic, and people are drawn to that, despite your crass nature.” Erwin tells him, and for once it’s obvious he’s not lying, “People naturally follow a person like you: I didn’t drop you in the deep end and hope for the best.”

“Well, I’m glad,” he replies, feels the set of his shoulders, the clench of both hands, relax. “Because my swimming looks more like flailing, and something tells me that’s not all that inspirational.”

The blonde chuckles, his lips tug into a smile, and he looks a thousand times better for it, less likely to drop from exhaustion. He doesn’t speak again, wraps his arm tight around Levi’s shoulders, and pulls him close without a word. 

Levi stiffens, feels warm where Erwin’s palms press flat against his back, and blinks in surprise. The blonde sighs, drops his head to Levi’s shoulder, and rests there. After a breathless moment, he’s brave enough to snake his hands around Erwin’s waist, rests his head against a broad chest, and listens to the steady heartbeat in his ear, closes his eyes to it. 

He’s never been a person who likes hugs, never knows what to do with himself, where to put his hands, how long to do it, how tight to hold someone. The last time he’d hugged someone was roughly twenty years ago, by his mother, the night before she died. He’d been smaller, and full of a light he doesn’t know how to find again, so he’d known what to do back then. 

This… is different. His mother’s embrace had been warm, and safe, like Erwin’s is now, but here, there’s more: a heat he can’t explain, a sort of tension not borne of anger. He doesn’t know what to do, encased in such a familiar sensation, and feels out of place, awkward. 

“You’re the first person that’s hugged me in twenty years.” He murmurs, presses a hand against Erwin’s chest to better feel his heartbeat vibrate through him, “Is that sad?”

“A little,” the blonde replies, squeezes him a little tighter. “But expected: you don’t seem the hugging type, Levi… I’m surprised you haven’t put a blade through me.”

“No I…” he bites his bottom lip, shifts in place, “I don’t know. I didn’t expect it to be so… welcome.” He shrugs, presses himself closer, to burrow into Erwin, to better hide this strange vulnerability. 

Erwin chuckles, it’s deep, more of a rumble to his ears, “The horror: I’m sure this makes it all the harder to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” It escapes so freely he’s surprised, “There are times when I’m not sure I trust you, or I’m not sure how to… how to follow you without any doubt in my mind.”

“It’s not as though I expect you to follow me blind.” Erwin’s voice is soft, so different from the usual bark of commands, the harshness he gives to those under his authority. Levi finds he prefers it, that it pulls off a sheen of intimidation. Feels better: because now they’re both vulnerable. “You can have doubts: I encourage them.”

“I don’t trust Dok,” he says, charges forward despite how awkward it feels, “And I hate how submissive you are to Zackly. I don’t understand why you don’t usurp Shadis, or why you’re so damn polite to the people here when they use you. I hate that you pretend to be this… this untouchable _thing_. I hate that half the time; I can’t tell what the fuck is going on in your head….” He licks his lips, is glad his face can hide from view, “I hate that even though you _infuriate_ me…. I can’t find a reason to be here without you and your stupid eyebrows.”

“My… eyebrows?” Erwin releases one of his hands, tilts Levi’s chin up. There’s clear amusement in his gaze, something else too, but as always Erwin is impossible to read. 

He nods, “Mm,” he glances down, doesn’t pull free of the blonde’s grip, “They’re stupid, I hate that I like them.”

“You’re being forthright, Levi. It's surprising.”

“I feel…” he shakes his head, “Safe? You said you wanted the truth so… there.” He’s glad that this awkwardness is characteristic of him, that he’s never been a smooth, or smart, talker. Otherwise, he’d likely be blushing harder than he already is, doing a great impression of a tomato; He can feel the heat at his cheeks, and the tips of his ears. 

“When did I ask for the truth?” Erwin seems confused, bemused, and that other thing, whatever it is, all at once. 

“You said I could have doubts,” he explains, straightens up and away from the blonde’s chest. “So that means you want me to voice my opinions.”

“… About my eyebrows?”

“About you, and your stupid face.” He snaps, but there’s no real heat to it, and any that might have existed dies with Erwin’s laughter. “Stop it,” he pushes at his Section Commander’s shoulder, “Fuck, this is the last time I open my mouth.”

“No, I’m sorry Levi,” Erwin smiles, it’s gentle, open, _vulnerable_ , “But you can be so awkward... it's endearing.” He runs a thumb under Levi’s chin, tilts it further, and kisses him. 

It comes as a surprise, and it’s nothing like the first. This is gentle, cautious, completely devoid of the confidence Erwin so often exudes. Levi closes his eyes to it, responds hesitantly, unsure of what he’s supposed to think. 

It’s less like Erwin is in control, or sure of his actions, which eases his mind, somewhat, washes away some of the doubt this kiss brings forth. He’s still unsure of why Erwin is doing it, but this time, it’s less about being used, and more about what Erwin wants. 

He pulls away, it’s hard to do, because the heat between them is not so much a roaring fire, but a ribbon that ties them together, snakes between them and draws them in when they pull apart. 

“Look,” he begins, wishes his heart would stop it's loud beating, “I don’t… I want… Why did you do that?” While it wasn’t the question he’d wanted to ask, he leaves it in the open, eager to know the answer. 

That soft, welcoming smile, is still present on Erwin’s face, makes Levi’s heart flutter. “Because you _are_ something to be in awe of.”

“Don’t be a cliché,” he warns, presses the hand on Erwin’s chest to it, as though somehow it might make him take the question seriously. “Tell me the truth, or be less cryptic.”

“Because I care very deeply for you,” the honesty is like a cool shock through him, and the fear in those blue eyes tells him that Erwin’s heart is open and unguarded, exposed to Levi’s own intentions. “And I want… something.”

“You don’t sound so sure,” he replies, suspicious, “And if that’s the case, why run the first time?”

“Fear, and inadequacy,” Erwin chuckles, runs his hand through his hair again. Levi remembers how soft it was the first time, pretends that fixing it is a good reason to touch it, and pushes his own fingers through it. “Fear of inadequacy, I think.”

“Why?” Levi shifts so that he is facing Erwin, pulls one foot up onto the bed and towards him, grips the ankle and holds it close with both hands. 

“You are stronger alone,” Erwin answers, shakes his head. “You don’t rely on others; in fact, you hate it so much sometimes you take it out on those trying to help.”

“You” he admits, “I take it out on you.”

“Sometimes,” he smiles, squeezes Levi’s wrist, “I don’t want to get in the way of that, and given my inability to think when I’m around you, I’m afraid that I’ll only drag you down.” Erwin’s brutal honesty is like a knife to his skin, sharp, painful, a shock at first until that fades and the realisation that he’s been stabbed sets in. His Section Commander seems to regret being honest, seems to want to take what he’s said back, and Levi can sympathise. 

He’s the type to lock himself up, to shut everything off so he can’t get hurt, and he thinks that while Erwin is not as obvious, that the blonde does it as well. It’s that professional air he puts on, that well-trained, well-developed mask that he wears always. It’s different: Levi snaps and snarls like a cornered animal, protects his wounds ferociously; while Erwin retreats behind his armour and licks his wounds in private.

“Erwin,” he feels the weight of that gaze, thinks that if he were any weaker, he’d be crushed by it. “You gave me wings. You pulled me out of the underground, and gave me a life to be proud of….” he stops, because as much he wishes it isn’t true, he’s terrified of what this means, of what telling Erwin might do. “I... I’m done talking.” 

“If we’d talked earlier… Maybe we wouldn’t have been so…”

“At odds?” Levi chuckles, “I feel… better?” he’s not sure, drained is a word that comes to mind, but he’s not sure if that’s because he’s so beaten down, or because of the honesty he’s given Erwin. 

“Vulnerable,” the blonde replies, “That’s how I feel, right now… It’s both awful and…”

“Like a relief,” he finishes, “I don’t usually talk this much…. at all, if I can avoid it… so…” he shrugs, losing his train of thought, and pulls Erwin close, embraces him. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“It’s alright.” a laugh catches his words, and he returns the gesture, without hesitation, “I don’t either… like I said, I can’t think around you.” He’s silent for a long moment, but it’s not an opening to talk, Erwin tilts his chin up again, catches his lips, adds teeth and tongue with an ease only experience can give. A thread of jealousy tugs at him, and Levi can’t help but wonder who was lucky enough to gain Erwin’s attention. Lucky enough to lose themselves to the intense heat the blonde seems to emanate, that seems to coarse through his blood. 

Levi shuts his eyes, wishes for a moment he could tell Erwin how he feels, that when he speaks, the meaning behind his words will somehow become clear. He pulls away, opens his mouth and finds his voice ripped from him, that while his mind races, the words can’t get past his throat. 

Carefully, he runs a thumb over the scar he’d spotted beneath Erwin’s eyes, what feels like eons ago. He breathes, remembers how _close_ they’d been that night. How he’d forgotten how to think, how to _act_ with these deep, endless eyes on him. He leans in and kisses Erwin, and it’s awkward: he’s never started a kiss before, he worries there is too much teeth, not enough. But one of Erwin’s hands thread into his hair, pulls him closer, and into his lap. 

Levi doesn’t know what to expect, but he’s never imagined the _heat_ , it courses through him, enters him by way of Erwin’s tongue that tangles with his own, by the hands at his neck and hip. He moans, it’s a soft, almost pitiful thing, and tilts his head downwards, sits up on his knees and cages Erwin’s hips between his thighs. As an apology for what he’s sure will be a sore neck, he kneads his fingers into the soft, pliable skin of Erwin’s nape, twitches in surprise at the answering moan he pulls free. 

He pulls away, opens his eyes and catches the smile the blonde sends his way. “Please don’t stop doing that,” he asks, leans up to kiss Levi. 

“Sore neck?” he asks, surprised that he’s whispering. 

“You have _no_ idea,” Erwin chuckles, closes his eyes in what seems like bliss before he opens them again, traces the line of Levi’s cheekbone, “Are you alright?” his voice has a soft, warm edge to it, somehow hotter than Levi himself feels. “You’re shaking.”

Levi brings his own hand into his line of sight, notes the gentle tremors that seem to vibrate through him. Fear. “I…” he laughs, because _of course_ he must give this secret away too. “I’ve never had sex before.” It seems uglier, somehow, out in the open, and there’s a flash of surprise that cuts through Erwin’s gaze.

“You… you haven’t?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” he snaps, but there’s not enough strength to it. He can feel the blush on his cheeks, at the tips of his ears. He hopes that sex was what they’d been leading to, and that he doesn’t seem like an idiot for bringing it up.

“Well, you don’t exactly act innocent and coy.” Erwin chuckles, “For such a clean man, you have an exceptionally dirty mouth.”

Levi laughs, it echoes through the room, he purses his lips, and doesn’t reply. It’s the way he was raised: as a child, he saw things most adults couldn’t imagine, couldn’t stay strong when confronted with them. He’s been a part of death, drugs, sex, of the adult world, for longer than Erwin, longer than many other Scouts. Longer still than the nobility of Sina, the King himself, and any others who cross his path. 

The only difference between himself, and those of the underground, is that he has resisted the temptation time and again, has refused to play the role everyone expects him to. “If this is too forward…” he begins, falls silent when Erwin runs a thumb across his lower lip. 

“I should be asking you that,” the blonde counters, presses their foreheads together, kisses him, it’s long, almost languid, and it burns through him. It’s nothing like the desperation he’d expected of whomever decided he was worth their time.

“Yes,” his response is so quick-fire, he flinches in response to it, shifts in place in Erwin’s lap. “I…” he shakes his head, “Fuck, this shouldn’t be difficult to say…. I blame you,” he toys with the collar of the blonde’s shirt, turns up the fabric so that it brushes against his jaw line. “I want you to.” 

Erwin makes an odd noise in the back of his throat, and Levi ducks his head, hides behind his hair. A gentle hand tilts his face up, teeth nip at his jaw, and slowly, Levi dares to bare his neck, moans when Erwin bites, sucks, at his throat, runs his thumbs over Levi’s hips and seems to infect his veins with the same warmth of his hands and mouth. 

He sighs, relaxes in place, and feels the hum of approval vibrate through him, allows Erwin to lower him to the bed. He bites his lip, represses a moan, at the thigh that presses between his own, rocks against him. He threads his hands through soft blonde hair, rolls his hips and allows his eyes to slide close. 

He grapples, for a long moment, with Erwin’s jacket, makes a small noise of triumph once he frees it, tosses it away from them both and works his hands beneath the blonde’s shirt. He’s smooth to the touch, Levi’s calloused hands seem to catch every so often on silken, warm skin. 

“You realise,” Erwin’s voice seems impossibly deep, a rumble in his ears, “That there are buttons on my shirt.” He licks a languid line up Levi’s throat, and he growls in reply. 

“Fuck you,” he slides his hands free, and complies despite his protest, cranes his neck away from lips that seem to poison him with heat, with what he recognises as desire. Sits up, bites at Erwin’s pulse point and flicks his tongue over the wound, revels in the moan he manages to pull free. A warm hand cards through his hair, tugs when he bites at a prominent collar bone, rocks his hips against the thigh between his. 

“I… I had an amazing quip, in response to that...” Erwin presses a kiss to Levi’s clothed shoulder. In response, he frees himself of the long-sleeved shirt, ignores the bandages and bruises that seem to dominate the skin of his chest. 

He laughs, it’s a breathy, barely there thing, “About time I figured a way to shut you up.”

“I don’t think you’ll get away with this in public.” The heat, and friction, between them is intoxicating, and the unconscious rhythm they’ve picked up is bliss. Erwin’s warm hands travel down from where they rest at his shoulders, explore his chest, squeeze his hips, and rest at his thighs. 

He arches into the touch, needing more. Each point that they connect is on fire, he’s sure of it. “Uh huh.” He can’t _think_ , only knows that if something isn’t done he’s likely to explode. “Stop talking?”

Erwin laughs, he feels it vibrate through the blonde from where he’s presses his head to a strong, unmarked chest. He bites at the skin before him, presses up and tips them over, gets to his hands and knees and plucks at the waistband of Erwin’s pants. “Off.” He demands, returns to marking up the broad expanse of skin in front of him. 

He bites, sucks, experiments with teeth and tongue, and acts like he’s done this before. Erwin doesn’t have to know that this is his first time for _everything_. He’s aware that the blonde is naked, because those impossibly warm hands are back on his skin. It’s winter: they should both be freezing, both wishing that they’d fallen for one another in summer, but Levi doesn’t remember a time when he’s been this hot. 

He clears his throat as he pulls back from sucking at Erwin’s hip bone, the sounds the blonde had been making sending heat curling through him. “You… do you… You think that’s going to _fit_?”

Erwin groans, and it’s not from pleasure, he sees the smirk he’s fighting, and Levi scowls in reply to it. He lifts an arm, and crooks a finger in his direction. Cautious, Levi crawls up the length of the blonde’s body, is reminded just how tall he is as he does so. 

“I will be,” Erwin kisses him, slides a hand through his hair, “Exceedingly gentle.”

Levi blushes, crawls backwards as Erwin sits up, manoeuvres out of his own pants and feels more vulnerable than he has in years. “Exceedingly… can you… dumb it down?” he asks, almost afraid to say it. 

“Incredibly?” and he understands that word, so he nods, offers a sheepish smile that Erwin returns with a look in his eyes that speaks of some emotion Levi can’t name. 

“You talk too smart, sometimes.” He tells the blonde, melts into the next kiss and cards his hands through soft hair. 

“Sorry,” Erwin murmurs, presses a kiss to his temple, takes his hands and laces their fingers together, “If I hurt you: break my nose, alright?”

“I like your nose,” Levi huffs, reaches over the bed and fishes through the side table for the nondescript container he knows is in there. He shouldn’t feel like a teenager caught pleasuring himself, but that’s what handing over the item feels like. “I’ll shave off your eyebrows, or something.”

“You know, I really like my eyebrows.” 

Levi chooses not to respond, breathes in sharply at the sudden pressure of Erwin’s intruding finger. The blonde kisses his thigh, runs a thumb over his hip, and Levi breathes once more, relaxes to the foreign touch, the slow stretching sensation when one becomes two. He bends his legs at the knee, and it seems to ease the pressure, if only a little. 

Erwin is silent for a long time, his eyes on Levi’s own, and he feels pinned beneath it, open to the promises that gaze holds, to the surge of protection beneath it all. He closes his eyes, rests his head against the pillow, and experimentally rocks his hips into Erwin’s fingers. There’s a hint of pain, but the spark of pleasure is much more interesting, so he does it again.

“Okay,” he’s surprised at how breathy he sounds, how the one word seems too much effort to voice. He watches, with some caution, as Erwin pulls free his fingers and slowly, the pressure he’d been growing used to increases. It’s a slow, burning sort of stretch: it hurts, but the heat that courses through him doesn’t fade, only increases. 

He hears a moan, realises it’s his own, punched free as Erwin thrusts gently, and he throws an arm over his eyes, hopes that it hides the blush, and most of his face. He cries out at the next, looks to the blonde when he feels a warm hand on his hip. 

“Did that hurt?” 

“No… I,” he wraps his legs around Erwin’s waist, it moves him deeper, and he hisses at the sensation of both pleasure and pain. “It’s fine, it feels good… kind of hurts.”

“Sorry,” Erwin replies, and he moves Levi’s arm away from his face, “You’re hiding your face?”

He feels heat on his cheeks, more intense than it has been, and knows he’s likely bright red, “I….” he growls when Erwin drops his arm, and it falls across his eyes again.

Erwin rocks his hips, “You don’t want to let on that I’m driving you crazy?”

Levi feels the wanton sound building in his throat, bites his hand to repress it, “Fuck you.”

“No, Levi,” Erwin grins, triumphant above him as he pulls Levi’s hands from his face, “Fuck you”

“ _That_ was the fucking line?!” he barks a laugh, finds it cut of when the blonde rocks sharply into him. Moans softly at the next thrust that sends heat through his spine, “It was very good, very witty.”

He frowns when Erwin laughs, though it’s breathy, a little manic, and it tells Levi he’s not the only one that’s being consumed by the heat that seems to be a part of them both. He moves, then, first slow and careful, but Levi’s not patient, sets his own pace until they find a match somewhere in the middle. It’s not what he’d call gentle, but Erwin doesn’t try to bruise him, moans in encouragement to Levi’s nails digging into his back. 

They are slick with sweat, and at any other time Levi knows he would find it beyond repulsive, tightens his hold around Erwin’s tapered waist. Punctuates each thrust with a sharp cry, feels the heat that’s pooling in his stomach, and lower, draw into a tight string. 

It snaps, and he’s surprised by the sound he lets loose, feels the heat seeping from him, coils loosening as he does. Levi can’t catch his breath, and he can’t quite manage much beyond a garbled protest when Erwin flips him onto all fours and enters him again, sets a break neck pace that has him moaning with each thrust. It almost drowns out the sound of sweat slicked skin slapping together, doesn’t quite match the sound that leaves Erwin when his hips stutter to a halt.

Erwin presses a kiss between his shoulders, and Levi very quickly forgets how to keep himself up, falls to his stomach and runs both hands through his hair, feels the sweat between his fingers. It’s in his hair, which is thick, and oily. The cold air seems to stick to him, and he flinches in surprise when Erwin returns with a warm washcloth. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs once handed the cloth, only now feels the pain in his ribs. Carefully, he stands, feels wrung out and fragile to the touch, and moves the cloth to the hamper of laundry that’s slowly growing. 

“Alright?” Erwin asks as he returns, and Levi bullies him off the bed to draw back the sheets, pulls him back in. Settles himself so that he’s laying across a broad chest, Erwin's warm hands tracing nonsense patterns on his back. 

He nods, sighs softly, and lays his palm flat over Erwin’s middle, “Yes.” He answers, feels the tension in the body beneath him vanish in a puff of breath.

“Good.” The blonde sighs, shifts in place and shuts his eyes. 

Levi frowns, taps gently at Erwin’s chest, “What do you want?”

“Hm?”

“Out of life… what’s the thing that you’re working towards?” Erwin shifts, rolls onto his side, and Levi rests his head on the arm that’s stretched out behind him. He sighs at the touch of fingers in his hair, “It’s gross, and oily: don’t do that.”

“I don’t care what it is,” he glares at the protest, and Erwin only laughs, “Why do you think I want something out of life?”

“Everyone does,” Levi supplies, tangles their legs together as he curls close, smiles at the kiss to the top of his head. “You’re the type of person who looks ahead. I know you’ve got some goal. People like you always do.”

Erwin is silent for a long moment, his fingers in Levi’s hair are soothing, turning him pliant, more relaxed than he’s been in days. “I would like to command the Scout Regiment…. My father had theories about the walls, and the Titans, and he died before he proved them to be true…. I would like to finish his work for him, considering it was my fault he died.”

Levi glances up, holds Erwin’s gaze once he catches it, “What does that mean?”

“He used to talk about his theories when we were at home. I was young, a child, and I tried to share those ideas with other children, and some adults… practically signed the contract for his life.”

Levi furrows his brow, purses his lips and _thinks_ before he speaks, “You’re guilty?”

“Of course, it was my fault he died…” Erwin’s gaze is steady, deep and endless, a little unfocused, “This is my way of recompense.”

“Recompense?”

“Repaying a debt.”

“You’re being stupid.” he says, presses a hand to Erwin’s cheek, runs a thumb along the bone and hates the gentle smile he gets in response. “Your father wouldn’t blame you, and you’re not at fault… this damn government is…”

Erwin doesn’t reply, stays silent for a long while, and Levi is grateful for it, because it gives him time to piece his thoughts together. “I’m with you.”

“Sorry?” the confusion on the blonde’s face is something Levi wants to frame: he thinks he’ll never see it again. 

“Relationship or not: I’m with you,” he continues, takes Erwin’s hand and squeezes it, “I’ll use my strength to help you achieve your goals. Use me to forge a path.”

“What about your goals in life?” Erwin’s attempt to change the subject is weak, and Levi almost takes pity on him, but charges forward instead. 

“Your success is my goal.” He declares, “I am yours, and your wishes are mine to fulfil.”

Erwin chuckles, “This sounds almost like a proposal.”

“Don’t laugh” Levi warns, scowls at Erwin, “I’m serious. Please use me to get what you want: you gave me wings, let me give you peace of mind.”

It looks as though he’s going to be laughed at again, but instead, Erwin nods, sobered, and kisses him, “Alright then, Levi… if you insist, then I’ll let you help me.”

With nothing more to say on the matter, Levi returns his gaze downward, scoots impossibly closer, and closes his eyes, listens to the steady rhythm of Erwin’s heart.  
He falls to sleep, and stays that way, for the first time in decades.


	8. Smoulder

While he's told that his wounds need time to heal, Levi knows that there is no chance to do so. Leaving the group loose is too dangerous, too likely to encourage more murders. So, weapons strapped to his person, wounds bandaged, and money he’d pickpocketed hidden on his person, he enters the underground. 

Erwin is not with him, not because he asked to go alone, but because he and Shadis are meeting with the Premier, for what, neither know. It’s set him on edge: he doesn’t trust the capital. The Premier has never held any love for the Scouts, especially Erwin and Keith themselves, and he takes each opportunity to throw them to the dirt. Zackly is the sort of man Levi hates at a slow burn, the fire never quite sparking, remaining hot coals forever. 

The air is chilled here; his cravat and coat seem to have no benefits whatsoever. It brings forth memories of long nights, days wondering if he would fall over and die from starvation, exhaustion, or blood loss. 

Odd, that he used to know the streets he walks better than he knew himself. That he had once thought of these as his people, as what he was, and what he’d always be. Odder still, that the very thing he had despised was now the thing he is proud of being. 

A Scout, a member of the military, a dirty, corrupt dog, a suicidal maniac. Lieutenant Levi.

Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. 

“There’s a group down here with military gear,” Lux looks surprised to see him, it’s there in the way his hands freeze at the blade he’s cleaning. “I know you’ll have at least heard of them. Do you know where they might have holed up?”

The old man taps the knife against his counter, it makes a solid, sturdy sound, “If I did, I’d be dead by now.”

“Tsk, I doubt it: you’re the best damn smuggler down here, when it comes to weapons. If you didn’t supply them with those blades, then you at least know who did.” It’s been a while since he’s been truly connected to the underworld, but he knows that Lux is a liar, just like the rest of them. 

_‘Never trust anyone enough to turn your back to them, kid. Hard to heal a stab to the back, harder still healing the trust they bleed out.’_

“Franz,” Lux replies: there is no honour amongst anyone down here. No one trusts, or values, someone enough to keep their secrets from dangerous people. “South Quarter, one eye, you’ve met him once before, Ackerman was with you.”

He knows the name, remembers the face once he connects them to Kenny. Franz had been hard, harder than Lux, and had had no time for anyone who didn’t have money or influence. He was no ankle biter, a wolf amongst stray dogs, and Levi had been told very specifically to keep his distance. 

“I know him,” he assures, frees a few notes, and slides them over the counter: betrayal never comes without cost, not even between close friends. “See you around.”

“Let’s hope not,” the old man replies, and Levi thinks he means it. 

The South Quarter is dingy, deadlier than the other areas of the underground, dirtier. Full of the worst kinds of people, with no remorse, no morals, and no reason to live. He’d been eleven the last time he’d been here, had clung so tightly to Kenny’s arm the man had joked he’d cut it off if he wasn’t careful. 

Even though he was a murderous traitor, Kenny had been kind in his own odd way. Franz, however, was and likely still is, not kind in the slightest, he was harsh, unforgiving, and hated kids, especially mouthy ones like Levi. 

This area of the underground is not familiar to him. 

He feels naked, exposed in the wrong ways, as though his weapons and fighting skill account for nothing. For the first time, down here, he feels afraid. 

Franz looks very different from the last time they’d met. Levi feels somehow smaller before him, as though he has shrunk and the smuggler has grown a further six feet. His stern, one-eyed gaze is invasive, and Levi feels open beneath it, like how he feels when he talks with Erwin. 

As though he’s being judged, directly, and without fear of hurting him with the criticism he’s likely to get. 

“You sold that group of hooded idiots military weapons,” he clips out, folds his arms, “Where are they holed up?”

Franz laughs, and the surprise is clear in his eyes at Levi’s assertiveness, “And why, exactly, would I tell you that?”

“I’ve got a score to settle with them,” he shifts his feet, watches the way that the smuggler’s body seems to tense, ready for action. “This doesn’t have to be painful.”

“Unlike Lux, I don’t betray paying customers.” Franz flexes one fist, Levi hears the knuckles crack, “At first, I didn’t know who the hell you were: dressed like that.” He smirks, and it’s a dark, cruel thing, sets Levi’s teeth on edge, puts him on his toes, “But you’re Ackerman’s runt, aren’t you?”

“Was never his,” Levi replies, his hand inches to his blades: this is going to whittle down to a fight, “But he did teach me how to knife people.”  
“You know he’s looking to kill you, don’t you?”

“Good thing I’m looking to kill him too.” Levi flinches when Franz laughs, it echoes through the street, seems to go on forever, blankets over him and threatens to suffocate him. 

“Uh huh,” the knife his opponent pulls is thick, cruel like the rest of him: it matches him, in an odd way. “Pretty sure everyone’s bettin’ on how that will go down.”

His own blades ring loudly against their scabbards, are sharp, keen to be put to work. He flips them in hand, flexes his hands against the grips, and lunges forward. Two blades ring together, Franz pulls another to go with his left hand, and Levi darts back to avoid it, presses forward and beneath the next swing, slashes up and meets another blade. 

Franz is stronger than Miche, armed too, but he’s slower, Levi has more time to see where the attack is headed, and how to avoid it. Suddenly, their sparring sessions seem much less like a bit of anger management, and more like the keys to his survival. 

He blocks the next attack, pushes against it and their blades scrape together, ring into the empty street. Levi ducks beneath their crossed weapons, kicks at Franz’s knee, feels it bend beneath his attack. He doesn’t dart back when the smuggler screams: can feel his own wounds starting to ache, and knows he needs to win quickly if he wants to stay alive. He steps into Franz’s space, blocks the frantic swing of his left hand, and presses his right blade to the smuggler’s neck. 

“Either you tell me,” he says, on his toes so the blade maintains contact, “Or I rip open your throat, and give your business to someone who will.” Most men down here had nothing to live for, aside from their business. Money was the lifeblood of the underground, as much as it was for the Scouting Legion. 

“They’re holed up near the Fourth Gate,” Franz pushes at him, and Levi lets him create space between them, keeps his blades trained on the smuggler just in case. “It used to be a marketplace, but they own it now.”

He nods, replaces his blades and ignores the pain in his ribs, the sting of his left hand. The Fourth Gate is well-known to be costly, well-guarded, and quieter than most areas of the underground. It makes sense that the murderers would hide there, would intimidate their way into ownership of the area. 

As smart as they are, and as clever as Levi has been in finding them, the Fourth Gate is in the most Northern point of the city, directly under what those who aren’t swimming in money call the Noble Quarter. 

Rather than walk, Levi uses his gear to cover the large amount of ground between him and the gate, dares himself to go faster, to arch higher and swing closer to walls. It’s a habit, now, as the minute he adapted to ODM gear, was the minute he had known he wanted to fly, high and fast, unstoppable…. Free. 

His feet touch the roof of a building that looks stable and he watches, from his vantage point, the market that the murderers have claimed. It’s plush, well-maintained and presented, which is odd for any area within the underground city. He frowns, descends to the streets, and slinks closer, clings tightly to the shadows. His right hand is tight against the hilt of one of his swords, feet feather light against the dirt covered floor, it’s with a steadying breath that he moves to step into the light. 

Stops when he hears commotion, when a silhouette casts itself upon the hooded figures that wait by the Fourth Gate. Levi stills, shrinks back, and waits. He can’t make out the conversation, but the tone, the commanding presence, feels familiar. He inches closer, dares to exit the cover of the buildings and blend into the abandoned market place. 

“It’s been _days_ : he’s likely dead. No one can survive a fall like that, with injuries like his.” He knows this voice: the hooded figure he’s been chasing from the start. They stand, defensive, before the silhouetted figure, and Levi notes the gleam of the sun on whatever metal they are wearing. 

“Until Section Commander Smith takes any action against you, assume Levi isn’t dead.” He recognises that voice now, remembers meeting this silhouette. “Remember, your way above ground is at stake here.”

Remembers Erwin telling him their name, after he’d lost his friends to the Titans. Lovof.

The man who signed his, and his friend’s, death warrants. A man he’d thought Erwin had dealt with. Apparently not. 

There are a larger number of hooded figures than he can take alone in the open. As much as he wants nothing more than to charge in and slit Lovof’s throat, he knows he’d be dead in minutes. 

He retreats, grapples to the roof and crouches down to make himself smaller, watches the exchange continue from his vantage point. He has his murderer’s name, knows that these people are doing exactly as he once had: killing to survive, to claw their way to the surface. 

Levi freezes at the cool of metal near his throat, flicks his gaze upward and meets a smug grin, “Lieutenant.”

If his attacker’s cry of pain doesn’t alert those in the marketplace, then the ring of blades colliding, and sliding against each other does. He feels rather than sees the group come upon him, blocks an attack to his right side and darts away from a swipe of a blade. Movement in the corner of his gaze, and the shouting, tells him that Lovof is retreating. 

He's safer above ground, from Levi and from any accusation he dares make: he needs to change that. Neatly, he ducks beneath another attack, lands on the ground in a roll, and grapples to the stairwell. The speed knocks him into the wall, and he swears under his breath, but moves up the stairs, denies the pain any attention. 

To their credit, the hooded figures pursue him. He’s forced to keep his eyes on them, rather than Lovof, and without flinching, drives one of his blades through a man’s stomach, kicks him into those behind him. The light of the sun is momentarily blinding, and Levi blinks in response to it, surprised that it’s this intense in winter. 

It’s been three years since he’s seen Lovof’s insignia, but he remembers those days, even if they are swathed in regret. His ribs are on fire, so rather than give chase, he throws one of his blades into the spoke of the retreating carriage’s wheel. He’s distracted with blocking another attack, recognises this attacker’s fighting style, hears rather than sees the carriage come to a halt. 

Knows this is their ring leader. 

He shifts his feet, avoids one attack, almost finds himself impaled on his attacker’s other blade and bats it away. Steps into their space and throws a hard punch to their jaw, feels something pop beneath his fist and follows the attack with a hard kick to their stomach. 

They stumble, fall, snow powders them in white, and they die it red with the blood they spit. Levi presses his remaining blade to their throat, hard, and bares his teeth. “Yield, you stupid bastard,” he kicks their blades away when they reach for them, the blade against their throat pales that slice of skin. “Lovof doesn’t keep his word.”

“We’d kill him if he didn’t.” they spit, rear up despite the blade at their throat. Levi kicks them in their dislocated jaw, hears a crack, and wonders if it’s a tooth, or bone. 

“He won’t,” he assures, “And you wouldn’t have the chance. Nobles dispose of their toys once they’re bored with them.” He presses a boot to their shoulder when they try to rise, keeps them on the ground, “Find another way up.”

“There is no other way!” they growl, bare their teeth, and he sees the fire in their eyes, recognises it, and feels sudden kinship.

A pang of sympathy. He sighs, wishes he wasn’t so weak, and pulls his blade back, keeps his boot to their shoulder as a warning, “What’s your name?”

“Gunther,” They reply, there’s suspicion in their gaze, “Gunther Schultz.”

He has a last name, a life, a better chance at fitting in up here than Levi. “You fight well,” he notes, “And you can use our gear… but you’re sloppy: I’ve seen children with better co-ordination… the Scouts would make quick work of that.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m going to bring you in, and you’re going to fight with us, with me.” He declares, “I’m bringing you out of the underground.”

“What happens if I refuse?” Gunther’s eyes are wary, his expression serious in a way Levi hasn’t seen it before.

He shrugs, “You die: the punishment for murder is execution, hanging if it’s enough people…. though you’ve killed military officers, so it’ll be a firing squad.” He knows that he’ll gain or lose an ally here, picks up one of the abandoned blades from Gunther’s stolen gear, and drives it through his clothes and into the snow. “I’ll be back: make a decision.”

He strides over to the carriage, where the driver is trying to dislodge the blade. Levi clears his throat, jerks his head to indicate they move, and raps hard on the door. He wrenches it open, pulls Lovof free and throws him to the dirt. 

“Can’t keep your hands clean, can you?” He grates, presses a boot to his hand when he tries to struggle to his feet. Levi tosses his head toward the oncoming Military Police, “Get your Commander. Now.” He’s surprised when they stop, and turn to do as he says, but shrugs off the feeling in favour of examining Lovof. 

For all he had promised Levi, the man is completely unimpressive. He’d expected more of a criminal mastermind, a heartless murderer of the people’s soldiers.

“They turned you into a lap dog quickly,” the noble sneers, and Levi chuckles. 

“Mm.” he agrees, doesn’t see the point in getting angry, because as much as he wants to deny it, it’s true. For Erwin Smith, at least, he is at his master’s beck and call. “Freedom and coin: more than you offered.” 

He turns to the sound of bootsteps, looks Nile up and down as he approaches, “Turns out Lovof here hadn’t gotten his fill of bribery last time. He was paying people to kill for your, and then Shadis’s, attention.” He shrugs, backs away from the noble when they lift him to his feet, and shackle him. “Maybe this time he should be executed for treason? Doesn’t look like a slap on the wrist did anything.”

“Time to cut off the whole hand?” Nile replies, and for once Levi nods in agreement. It’s a strange feeling. “I agree: if not death, he’ll at least get imprisonment.”

“Knew there was something noble in you.” Levi notes, folds his arms and jerks his head in the direction of Gunther, still pinned by the blade through his clothes, “I’ll take care of him.”

“You can’t just kill him. Underground or not, the Premier won’t accept it.”

“I’m not going to.” He snaps, turns on his heel and stamps away from Commander Dok, wonders how Erwin can think so highly of the bastard. He pulls the blade free, offers Gunther a hand to pull him to his feet, and undoes the ODM gear, returns it to one of the officers guarding the perimeter. 

“We need to get the others.” He tells them, “I’ll deal with it: keep yourself out of the underground until Commander Shadis gives the all clear.” He sees it in their eyes: they hate obeying his orders. He smirks, a surge of _power_ coils through him, and he thinks this is what it must be like to hold true command over a person. 

Wonders if this is why the rank of Commander is so sought after. 

“Yes sir.” They snap, “I’ll relay it to the Commander for you.”

Levi nods, turns back to Gunther and leads him through the snow clogged streets, wonders if the snow will ever let up, or if he will be playing detective for the rest of his days. 

“You’re sure that your Commander will allow this?” Gunther asks, he has hard eyes, Levi notes, and the neutral expression seems more at home one his face than the manic grin. 

He shrugs in reply, “We’ll see… though if I am allowed the freedom of choosing my squad, asking for you shouldn’t be too much of a surprise.” He’s not sure how Shadis will react, knows Erwin would trust his judgement, but doesn’t believe he’ll ever have the same rapport with the Commander. 

He steps into the lush entryway of the Premier’s office, feels dirty and unkempt even though he knows he’s clean, knows that everything about him is perfectly presented. Dirty on the inside, he thinks blithely. He steps past the military that loiter around the hall, his boots click against genuine marble, and he knocks at an oak door that is heavier than he is. 

Erwin is the one to answer, and he offers Levi a small smile, but the confusion is in his gaze, “Lieutenant?”

“I need to talk to Shadis,” he explains, jerks his head behind him, towards Gunther. “Solved the murders, and… I have a request.”

“Commander,” Erwin calls behind him, and the openness of his features vanishes. Shadis steps past the blonde, and outside the room, shuts the door behind him. 

“Levi.” There’s no question in his gaze, but Levi thinks he spots relief.

“Lovof, the man who contracted me to kill Erwin, was behind these murders.” He explains, “Dok’s got him in custody, behind me is the ringleader of the group actually wielding the blade.” He folds his arms, shifts his feet. “I want him on my squad: he’s useless dead.”

He shifts under Shadis’s gaze, and it’s not piercing in the same way Erwin’s ease, more trying to kook for foul intent, and conviction, than trying to tear down his defences. “Alright. One slip, and he’s dead.”

Levi refrains from sighing in relief, “Thank you, sir.”

“Damn right…. now, I have to get back in there,” he jerks a thumb at the wooden door, Levi spots the distaste in his eyes. “So is there anything else?”

“I’m going to head back to the underground, and take the other group members’ gear,” he nods. “I’ll take him back first, get him set up… this shouldn’t take long, maybe the evening.”

“Good work Levi,” Shadis finally says, offers a small smile. “Report back tomorrow morning, and let Zacharius know, if you see him, that the horses, and our men, need to be ready to move.”

He nods, salutes, and steps away, heads back to their base and resists the urge to smile. They’re headed outside the walls, clearly he and his Commander have done enough to earn back the favour of the nobles. 

He sighs in relief with the knowledge, hopes that they’ll be leaving within the week, and that the snow lets up. He aches to be back outside of these walls.


	9. Flutter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'm concerned this chapter like I'm concerned for the ending of anything I write: I feel like it doesn't do the piece justice.

Levi makes short work of finding the people with military gear underground: barely stretches his wounds in doing so. Gunther is welcomed into the fold, trained ceaselessly with the few days they have left in the Royal Capital. He relents to the medics within the Scouts, and rests, once he’s certain he’s tidied up the mess Lovof made. 

Premier Zackly is hesitant at first when Lovof’s trial begins, but with his, and Nile’s, nudging, he bends and seems to make a fair verdict. Erwin seems reluctant to say this, when Levi asks, which tells him that Lovof likely still got off easy in thanks to politics and influence. 

It doesn’t matter to him: he’s never cared much about the state of the Capital, wants to leave the walls and never return. 

He and Erwin haven’t spoken since the night they had shared together. But he’s not worried, not yet: they’ll have time to talk, and he trusts that Erwin was honest when he’d proposed a relationship between them. In fact, he keeps his interest plain, gives small gifts now and again, spends time with Levi when they have a moment or two to spare. He warms further to the idea every time he considers it, finds that he’s eagerly waiting for the blonde to start the conversation. Finds that despite his eagerness, he is too afraid to take the initiative, worried that somehow, Erwin’s affection for him has somehow waned. 

He tries not to let it bother him, and works instead towards helping his Section Commander achieve his goals. Uses his strength to aid Erwin in every way possible, allows himself to be a tool without protest. Builds rapport with his squad, until they are of one mind, work like a finely tuned machine. 

All the while his reputation seems to refuse to stop growing. 

Two years he’s been waiting, has been fighting Titans and politicians alike, and the old wounds of the underground are healing, slowly. His body has long forgotten the pain, and his mind is beginning to as well. 

They’ve set up a total of six supply bases over two years, and he finds Erwin on the roof of their newest, the wind snapping at his jacket, mussing his hair. Levi stands beside him, feels the wind upset his own hair, toy with his own jacket. 

“Lieutenant.” Erwin greets him, looks to him through the corner of his gaze. 

Levi folds his arms, can’t resist a smirk, “Commander.” He mimics Erwin’s tone, lets the silence rest for a moment. A strong burst of wind blows his cravat into his face, and he takes surprised step back. Swears in both surprise and frustration, holds the fabric down with an open palm. 

They laugh in unison, it’s short and sharp, a lot like the wind that whips into them. Levi feels a wave of calm wash over him, and he sits at the edge of the roof, looks to Erwin when the blonde joins him, wraps an arm around his waist. 

“So…” he begins, amazed he’s the one talking, that Erwin is eerily silent beside him, “We never did talk about that relationship.”

“No” Erwin laughs, runs a hand through his hair, “We didn’t: that’s my fault.”

“Mm.” Levi replies, rests his head on the blonde’s shoulder, “You still want it?”

“Definitely.” Erwin doesn’t hesitate, squeezes his side firmly, “I’m sure of it… do you?”

Levi nods, curls closer to the blonde, “Of course,” he wishes he’d been this sure two years ago, that he’d not been so full of self-doubt. “I’ve wanted it for a while now.”

“Sorry for keeping you waiting.”

“So you should be.”

Erwin chuckles, kisses his temple and runs a hand through his hair, “How should I make it up to you then?” there’s heat to his tone, it’s warm, familiar in the way it curls around him. 

“I can think of a few ways,” he replies, allows his head to be tilted up, lips to be captured in a kiss, “A bath, then maybe the night to ourselves, would be a good start.”

The next kiss is searing, threatens to burn him with its intensity, “I think I can manage that much.” 

“How about doing something to your eyebrows?” he teases, grins in response to Erwin’s frown. 

“Watch it, Lieutenant…”

“Well then, I suppose two out of three isn’t bad.” Levi stands, tugs Erwin up with him, “Let’s go, before one of your Section Commanders decide to make a nuisance of themselves.”

“Levi,” he stops, turns to Erwin who pulls him close, holds him tight enough to ache, “Thank you.”

It could mean a thousand things, could be directed towards something he’s done, or for who he is: Levi doesn’t know, doesn’t ask. “I am yours,” he says instead, “For as long as you will have me.”

### End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you made it! Thanks for much for reading this! Please don't hesitate to let me know what you thought of it, and if you'd read a sequel!
> 
> Thank you again!


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